Magic of Monkey Island Book 1: The Mask of Medusa.
by Aletheia
Summary: A sequel to The Curse of Monkey Island: Guybrush's sister is called upon to help save the world from the dread pirate LeChuck.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"-and so we've been married ever since" finished Guybrush. He interlaced his fingers with those of the red-haired woman next to him--he'd been holding her left hand on the pretext of showing off her ring for the past hour now. His wife, Elaine, settled into a more comfortable position on the couch they were sharing. 

Their audience-a brown-haired woman in the uniform of a Captain of Gov. Elaine's pirate army, nodded fractionally. "The next part I know. You sent me a note--all of three lines, I think it was. 'Dear Sis: Got married, hope to see you soon. Love: Guybrush'."

"That sounds about right" put in Elaine with a sidelong look at her husband.

"It was a little bit more than _that_" protested Guybrush at the same time, trying to look innocent. 

Chariset Threepwood tried not to roll her eyes. "And so I came as soon as I could get away. Governor Phatt was still making trouble on Booty Island up until just recently." She had the same soft curly hair and long fingers as her twin, but her mother's shorter nose and penetrating blue eyes. I think he--or his officers--would love to annex Booty if they had the chance. But the natives won't stand for it." She showed her teeth in a brief grin. "All of their food budget would go into feeding that overweight lump, and they know it."

The two ladies went into a conversation about island politics for some time--Guybrush stayed out of it. For one, he didn't know much about politics, for two he was just pleased to see Chariset and Elaine getting along. He'd been worried about that--but from the moment she had landed on the Sea Cucumber's deck, just off the coast of Plunder Island, she and Elaine had taken a liking to one another. She was planning to stay for about a week, then she and her crew would have to return to duty around Mêlée and Booty. But in a year Elaine's term of office would be over-and Chariset's service in her army as well. Perhaps then she would go travelling with the two of them when that was done--they wanted to visit Blood Island again and maybe go exploring outside of the Caribbean. Nothing was really nailed down as yet-that made Elaine nervous, but Guybrush liked it that way. After all, he was a-

"Guybrush?" Elaine broke into his musings. It's getting dark--we should head in." It _was_ dark--unnaturally so for this time of the afternoon--as they walked out of the captain's cabin and onto the deck. The sky was slowly clouding over and the waves had turned a flat, dull gray.

"That's odd," remarked Chariset. "This is the wrong time of year for a northerly wind..." Elaine also was casting an uneasy eye on the clouds.

There _was_ a feeling of wrongness in the air, but Guybrush couldn't place it. "Shall we take your ship, Chariset?"

She was pleased by the offer, he could tell. "The Seahorse is ready for your use, Captain Threepwood."

In the brief time it took Guybrush to inform Haggis McMutton, his first mate, of their decision, the wind had come up. Triangular waves danced between the two ships and the sky was entirely overcast. 

"Better hurry, before it breaks on us" Guybrush commented. A rumble of thunder punctuated his words. Elaine had already climbed up on the railing of the Sea Cucumber with a dangling piece of rope from the Seahorse wrapped around her hands. She grinned and waved as she pushed off-

-and the wind struck with a howling force. Elaine stiffened in surprise as the gale hit her midway through the swing, and the rope slipped through her fingers. She lost her grip entirely and disappeared into the angry waters below. 

"Elaine!" Guybrush rushed to the railing; Chariset a step behind him with another length of rope in her hands. Elaine's head, hair slicked to her scalp with the water, appeared in the waves. She trod water, looking relatively calm, while Chariset tied a loop in the other end of her rope. Elaine caught it when it was thrown to her, settled the loop around herself, just under her arms, and let Guybrush and his sister pull her in through the waves. She held the rope in one hand and pushed hair off her face with the other as they brought her up towards the side of the ship.

And then the unexpected happened--the sea opened her mouth and swallowed Elaine. 

An icy-blue-green whirlpool opened between the two ships--Guybrush called a warning, Elaine turned and saw the thing-and then she vanished. The rope-end disappeared into the yawning maw of the thing--Guybrush lost his grip on the rope in shock and Chariset was nearly dragged into the railing as she braced both feet and fought with all her weight to hold on. The swirling mouth of the whirlpool refused to give up the tug-of-war as her feet skidded on the wet deck, covered in the rain that was falling all around. It was black as night and still the horrible thing could be seen, glowing with some evil, icy power. 

Beside her she heard her brother cry out "_Elaine_!!"

"Guybrush...help!" was all she could manage with the toes of her boots braced against the rail now, the rope wrapped around both her hands, her long ponytail beating against her back with the wind, straining with all her might to hold on. He came--somehow he got between her and the railing, seized the rope, together they moved backward one step, two, fighting the awful fury of that hungry mouth. She gritted her teeth and pulled even harder.

Then came a slow tearing sound--as if in slow motion, Chariset looked down and saw the rope between herself and her brother slowly coming apart. In horrified fascination she watched the fibers stretch thin and snap, working towards the center, even as she freed a hand to grab the other end- 

-the rope snapped. Time resumed its normal pace as she fought against the recoil of the rope, staggered back, struggled to move forward, saw Guybrush pulled sharply into the rail, bent over it, slip over. She reached out and caught hold of one shoe, feeling herself doubled over the wooden rail as she fought to hold on in the face of the wind and the rain. 

The shoe, not used to being the object of a tug-of-war, gave under the pressure. Chariset fell over backwards, tumbled head over heels across the deck, and slammed into a pile of boxes on the other side. She dimly heard the thin cry as her brother was pulled down into the whirlpool and struggled to her feet--so high with adrenaline that she didn't even feel the bruises from the boxes yet--ran across the slippery deck to the rail. 

The whirlpool closed its mouth at last--it and the storm faded away at the same time--the gray waters subsided into calm stillness over the site where her brother and sister-in-law had been sucked down. But just before the foam had entirely vanished, a patch of ice appeared where the center of the maw had been--it spread out quickly, forming a rough circle to mark the location. Then it cracked and began melting almost immediately in the warm Caribbean sun.

Chariset, hands on the rail, sank to her knees. Her face felt cold and clammy and she knew she must have looked pale as death, but her system had been under so much shock that she no longer cared. Sightlessly she stared at the rail, breathing shallowly, her mind trying to make sense out of the horror she had just seen. _Guybrush was just in the cabin_, she thought. _Elaine's on board already. They're fine. They're_..

"Miss Threepwood?" The Scottish brogue came from the largest of the three men next to her-she looked up and saw her brother's crew who had come up without her noticing. He looked sad-and apologetic. "I hate ta be botherin' ya, but thar's somethin' here ye should see."

He gave her a hand up--she leaned on him for a second before turning to look out in the waters where he pointed. The circle of ice had melted away, but a shiny, rectangular block of ice bobbed in the waters still--she gave an involuntary cry when she saw that it contained her brother's face. The crew got ropes around it and hoisted it up onto the deck--she closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath, then looked into it. 

Inside lay her brother, eyes closed, arms folded over his chest. Like a corpse. In a coffin somewhere. The ice was clear as crystal--she could see in remorseless detail every little thing that would mark him as Guybrush Threepwood. He even still wore his simple wedding band. But his skin was a pale blue and his eyelids and fingertips were purplish. Even his hair had a bluish tint. She laid her hand on the ice--and drew it away instantly-it was too cold to touch. It was also defying the hot sun, remaining unmelted despite the tropical heat. Not even perspiration rose on it. 

"Get a chisel," she heard herself said in a rough voice. The thinnest of the pirate three brought a mallet and a chisel and struck the block with a mighty blow. Not a crack appeared. There wasn't even a dent in the ice where the chisel had rested. The red-bearded giant tried as well, without success. The ice resisted the chisel better than any stone she had ever seen.

"It's no use" said Chariset at last. "LeChuck's killed him." She had no idea why she'd said that, but the moment she did, she knew it was true. The trio looked at her in surprise as she said it again "LeChuck's killed him." 

She shivered-she'd never thought she'd have to confront the undead herself-but in that moment she vowed she'd have her revenge for her brother and her sister in law. And then she slowly became aware of little things--her nose itched, her entire left side ached, and her right hand was clenched so tightly it hurt. She looked down--her brother's shoe was still clutched tightly in her hand. That set her off--she curled up around the thing and sobbed.

A hand laid itself awkwardly on her shoulder--she looked up at Haggis again. "Don't cry, lass" he offered hesitantly. "There's someone on Plunder Island who might be able to help ye." She looked at her brother's frozen form without answering--he followed her gaze. "I know it looks bad, but if anyone can help, she can."

"Can you--" she swallowed. "Can you keep him someplace safe until I come back?"

"Aye, lass. That we can. Come back with us to Plunder Island."


	2. The Search for the Amulet

The Mask of Medusa: Chapter One

The Search for the Amulet

* * *

"Does this Voodoo Lady live in Puerto Pollo?" asked Chariset as they propped the Guybrush-ice-cube upright in a back corner of the pirate's barber shop. 

The Barbery Coast, as they called it, boasted a front room wherein they conducted their business, but also a small living area in the back. Haggis had offered her the use of a small bedroom for as long as she might need to stay on Plunder Island--it was musty, but not too bad, considering that three bachelors owned the place. Maneuvering her frozen brother into it was more difficult than she had thought it would be--Haggis could have simply wrapped his giant arms around the block, except that it was incredibly cold, too cold to touch with bare skin. They eventually just tied ropes around it and dragged it down from the docks where the Sea Cucumber was moored, along the plank walkway next to the ocean, to the barber shop. Halfway there, Chariset realized that the block would float in the salt water, so they dropped it in and pulled it through the water, canal-boat style (attracting some very strange looks from passers-by). Getting it inside was another chore, but they managed with a minimum of fuss. As far as she was concerned, the fewer people knew Guybrush was there, the better. LeChuck might no longer be interested, but he had other enemies.

"No, lass...she lives in a swamp west of town. Years ago, the great Spanish ship called the _Magic Queen_ was blown into shore by a hurrican'--the Voodoo Lady moved into the wreck last year and's been callin' it home ever since." Haggis was trying to sound reassuring, but it was obviously not a role he was used to. "She's almost always home, lass, and she likes visitors. If anyone can help yer brother, she can." 

Chariset looked again at the strange block of magic ice. "Do--" she started, but faltered, afraid to ask. "Do you think he's--?"

"Ah don' know, lass. But at least after ye see the Voodoo Lady ye'll know fer sure, one way or th'other." 

There was that, though it was cold comfort. Haggis' look became entirely kind. "But I suspect that, before too long, ye'll be able ta give yer brother his shoe back."

She wanted to hug him. Instead she said, "Thank you for all your help. I'll be back as soon as I can."

He assured her that it was nothing at all, but she was determined to try to repay them--somehow. Then she departed for her errands in town.

Puerto Pollo was quaint but uninteresting--your typical tile-roofed Caribbean villa. It had a lovely clock tower on top of a theater that looked deserted, a small fountain in front of that, a stone bridge crossing an inlet that divided the town into halves, and one of those ever-present kid-selling-something booths. The kid in question was a rather stumpy carrot-top of a boy who apparently had been in unsuccessful business for some time--his house was festooned with banners, most of which had been crossed off and rewritten. Only one was legible--Kenny's Fruit Stand. 

Chariset happened to remember many unsuccessful business ventures of her own as a child, so she almost bought something out of sympathy, but she had more important things on her mind at the moment. Perhaps she could come back some other time. She also noted that the Seahorse had docked nearby--she'd need to talk to her crew, too. One more item on a long mental list of Things to Do. 

Eventually she left the town behind and followed the shoreline to a small beach in the shadow of Elaine's fort. A small path wound west-northwest into a gloomy tropical forest, around a small rise, and into the swamp.

Although she'd been warned, Chariset'd had a hard time picturing a ship tossed this far inland, but there was the wreck of the Magic Queen, dead-center in the swamp. She was lying on her side on a clump of trees, which had twisted and contorted over the years to support her weight. A staircase led up from the ground into the interior.

Even if the wrecked ship wasn't a good tip-off, someone had constructed a crooked path to the staircase and had lined it with lanterns shaped like skulls on pikes--candles burned on their heads. A large arch formed a sort of gateway onto the path, decorated with a large cow skull and a smaller human skull--it looked to her like another human skull had been on the other end but had fallen off somehow. She passed under the thing and entered the ship.

To her great suprise, the interior was well-lit and rather tastefully decorated (if your tastes happen to run to voodoo decor). Remembering her brother's description of the place, she found the large mounted alligator propped up against one wall and pulled the creature's dangling tongue. Something like a chime sounded, and a large chair rose up in front of her--empty.

"I'm over here, dear," called a voice from the far side of the room--Chariset ducked under a large piece of hanging cloth that served as a room divider and found the great priestess in some sort of kitchen area, peeling potatoes. Her hands were covered in peelings, and her sleeves were rolled up, but there was still an authority about her that commanded respect without saying a word. She indicated the vacant chair opposite her at the table with her eyes, and waited for Chariset to get settled before saying "Well, well, another of the Threepwoods has come to visit me." She had a deep and mellow voice, gentle as a rising tide. "I know your brother Guybrush too well not to know a relative when I see one" she added, answering Chariset's surprised gaze. 

"Well..yes...you see, that's what I've come to talk to you about" she fumbled, finally picking up a potato and going to work on it with her knife just to occupy her hands. She had never felt emotionally less at ease than she did in front of this self-assured woman. "You see, LeChuck, he...and Guybrush...and.." she floundered verbally before lapsing into a desperate silence, staring at the potato. Any farther and she was going to burst into hysterics--wouldn't_ that_ just win the priestess' respect. She shook her head, hoping that somehow the Voodoo Lady would understand. 

The commanding priestess regarded her in compassionate silence for a time, waiting. Chariset finally gathered herself together and tried again. "Something terrible has happened. There was a strange storm at sea, and I'm sure LeChuck must have been behind it. Elaine and my brother were caught in a whirlpool--when we found him later, he was trapped in a block of ice. We never found Elaine."

"And what do you want me to do about it?" asked the priestess, not demanding, merely asking.

"Help!" Chariset burst out. "Give me something to break the spell, some way to defeat LeChuck, anything!"

"I do not know how to defeat LeChuck" explained the woman sadly. "And to break a spell, you need something that will undo that spell. Other than that, I cannot help you."

"Then LeChuck's won, then" said Chariset bitterly, "He's got Elaine and he's killed my brother--and you can't do a thing about it."

The priestess winced, and she regretted her angry words. "There is nothing in voodoo that can revoke a spell" she said, sounding regretful. "But perhaps...in some other field of magic.."

"Yes?"

The older woman shook her head. "No. That magic is all of the dark, Chariset. Guybrush would not wish you to resort to black magic to save him."

"But I'd still do it," Chariset persisted. The priestess looked doubtful--she pressed on. "This isn't just about me. This is for Guybrush and Elaine and some chance for them to have normal lives again. This is for everyone that LeChuck has ever hurt. Isn't it worth it to be rid of that kind of evil once and for all?" 

She didn't realize that she was standing until the Voodoo Lady motioned her to sit back down. "Very well. You must seek out the Necromancer." 

The unfamiliar name sent a chill down Chariset's back. "But that's someone who--"

"--gets most of his power from the dead, yes. But he is said to have an amulet of incredible power, an amulet that can reverse any magic ever cast. If you had that--"

"--I could free my brother and undo the magics that keep bringing LeChuck back to life" she finished, catching on.

"But because it is a object of such incredible power, the Necromancer will be very reluctant to part with it." An understatement, surely. "Here." She proffered a small coin with a hole in the center, engraved with a ship and a cauldron. "This is my special token. Give this to him and he will know that I sent you. Perhaps it will make him more..reasonable."

Chariset tucked it carefully away, feeling a bit more hopeful. "Where can I find this Necromancer?"

"The last I heard of him, he was living on Sable Island."

"Where is that?"

"It's a mystery island" explained the priestess. "It's uncharted and unmapped. All anyone knows is that, if you sail due north from Plunder Island for three days, you will find Sable Island. It is surrounded in a perpetual fog and is very dangerous--I'm not at all surprised that the Necromancer has chosen to settle there."

"And once there, I sail due south to find Plunder Island again?"

"Perhaps."

"'Perhaps?'"

"I have never talked with anyone who had to sail back from Sable Island. Quite often, people just reappear, with no knowledge of how they got here."

That was hardly reassuring, but she couldn't back down now. "I never thought I'd be the one to destroy LeChuck" she admitted finally. "I never wanted to be a pirate--that was always Guybrush's dream."

The priestess nodded. "Dreams can change--or be changed for you--in the blink of an eye.

But you are a Threepwood, and Threepwoods seem to be destined for adventure. I have the feeling that you'll pull through." 

Chariset stayed for a few more minutes and peeled potatoes, but it was time for her to be gone. She left but promised that when she returned from Sable Island, she'd be back for a visit.

Now to talk with her crew. She boarded the Seahorse and gathered them all into the Captain's cabin (there were only ten of them, so this was possible), and explained the situation with Guybrush and Elaine, and Sable Island.

"Now this is the question" she finished. "I need at least five of you to stick with me and help me sail the Sea Cucumber--she's a smaller ship than the Seahorse but these will be dangerous waters. But there's a problem: We've only been dismissed for the month, and I can almost guarantee that we won't be back in time. Those who go with me run the risk of being accused of tardiness at the very least--you may even be accused of revolt. I don't have time to send word to Booty Island what the situation is. I promise you that your names will all be cleared when we return, but you need to know what a chance you're taking." Most of her crew simply nodded, but Thomas One-ear looked doubtful and Horace Deadeyes was frowning thoughtfully. No great loss if neither of those two came along. "Those who chose to stay, stay under the command of the ranking officer--they will take the ship back to defend Booty Island until the rest of us meet you there." 

Chariset called for a show of hands. There was a pause, and finally Nicholas, one of her navigators, stood up. "Cap'n, none of us have ever even heard of Sable Island. We don't know if it even exists," he began. She tensed, but he didn't ask the question she thought he would. "What makes ye willin' ta venture out there when you're not even sure if you'll find anything yerself?"

That gave her pause for thought--and she sensed her entire crew leaning forward to hear the answer. "I've got my information from a source who does not lie" she started, "and from a source who even tried to turn me away from doing this. But that's only half of your answer...and I think you all deserve to know the truth." Nods all around, save for the perpetually scowling Horace. "The honest truth is that I'm out of my league and desperate. I've never dealt with magic. But my brother and his sister-in-law need me to help them; and in an odd way,_ I_ need to help them. If I don't do this, I'll wonder if maybe I could have saved them if I'd just tried a _little_ harder." Nic and a few others looked like they understood, the rest looked puzzled. "But none of you are under this kind of obligation," she added, "so I'm giving the choice to you. I need your help, but there is a risk, and not everyone here has to take it."

"I'll go with ye, Cap'n" said Nic. 

A chorus of "aye's" followed. But Thomas, Horace, One-eyed Bob, and a slight little guy named Peter elected to remain behind. 

Chariset, a little touched, dismissed them for a few hours of shore leave, asking them to meet her at the Sea Cucumber at dawn the next morning. But first she gathered the four dissenters on deck and ordered the rest to gather their belongings. "I'm trusting you four to deliver a fair report of what's happened here to Gov. Elaine's army," she said firmly, looking directly at Deadeyes, the ranking officer. "If this isn't done, be sure that I will find out about it. I've never been the kind of Captain to rule by threatening my crew, but rest assured that I will not spare any of you if you betray my trust in this. Do you understand?" Grudgingly, all four gave their assent. "Then I suggest you get going. You've got a lot of sea to cover, and it's still early, hmm?"   


* * *

Horace Deadeyes' pleasure in commanding a vessel was slightly dimmed by being ordered out of the harbour on such short notice--and Cap'n Threepwood's lecture was still ringing in his ears. _We'll just see how far your threats go when yer clapped in irons for treason, Cap'n_, he thought, setting a course for Booty Island.   


* * *

The Sea Cucumber left the docks just after sunrise the following morning. Chariset watched from the railing as long as Plunder Island--and the barber shop--was still in sight. Then she and Nic pointed the ship's nose for the invisible north star and they were on their way.

They covered absolutely calm and boring seas for two days and two nights, but, not long before sunset on the third day, they entered a fogbank too dense to fathom. She could barely see the Sea Cucumber's bow from her stern. Her crew cut their speed to a crawl--a good thing, as it turned out. They must have been closer than she thought, because they hit a bump that upset everyone's balance, then came a low, grinding sound, and then the silence that comes from absolute stillness. The Sea Cucumber had run aground on a sandbar. 

Breathless in the silence, the crewmen were looking around themselves, wide-eyed--seeing ghosts in the fog, no doubt. Chariset was a little unnerved herself by how close they had come to running the ship onto the island itself. To dispel some of the tension, she sent the six of them, in pairs, to climb the masts and bind up the sails--no sense in letting the wind drive them even farther aground. But other than that, they were stuck--she couldn't even see a darker patch in the fog where an island might be, so there was no sense in going out in rowboats to look for it--but they couldn't stay out in the fog all night, either. 

But before things could begin to look utterly hopeless, something ran into the side of the ship with a hollow wooden _thunk--_not a hard impact, just enough to vibrate the deck under Chariset's feet. And then she heard a low muttering and cursing--presumably made by the cause of the _thunk_--coming from the side of the ship. She took two torches, gave one to Nic so he could start lighting the lanterns, and went over to investigate.

"Hello?" she called into the fog. "Is anyone there?"

Silence for a moment, then, "Oh, how I hate this blasted mist!"

"Who's there?"

"_It is I_." The mysteriously hollow voice seemed to come from the midst of the fog itself. "It is _I_, the Lost Welshman." 

"Where are you?"

"Down here, next to your blasted ship. Do you have a compass?"

That seemed like an odd question for a disembodied voice to ask. "I..suppose we have a spare you could borrow."

"It doesn't involve magnetized needles, does it?"

"Not that I'm aware of." This was truly a bizarre conversation. "Why don't you just come aboard?"

"Why?" The voice sounded gravelly yet irritated. "Aren't you just as lost as I am?"

"Not..precisely" Chariset lied. "We're somewhere off the coast of Sable Island. If we knew where the shore was, we wouldn't be lost any more."

"Oh..why didn't you _say_ so?" It irritated her a little that this unseen being claimed the right to be annoyed in this situation--after all, _he_ had run into _her_ ship. "I can take you there--with a compass." 

"Can you take a crew of seven, stay one or two days, and then return us to our ship?"

"All that for one compass?"

"You don't seem to have a lot of options. You can't steal a compass from us, and if we're stuck, so are you" Chariset pointed out. Her crew was silently assembling itself along the rail, listening in.

There was a rattling sigh from below. "All right. But I can only do it four at a time. And you go with the last group."

She gave a compass to Nicholas, who took three of the crew with him down a rope ladder fastened to the side of the ship. He called up to her that they had reached the Welshman's dinghy safely, then there was no sound except for the fading oar-strokes in the water. She went down into the arms room and found a small sword that still had some semblance of an edge, while her group of three lowered the anchor and locked the Sea Cucumber up as tightly as they could, since the ship would have to sit vacant for the few days they'd be gone. She wished she could leave one or two behind to guard it, but that would be asking a lot of a crewman, to leave him behind in the fog.

The Welshman returned, after a lengthy interval for Chariset to indulge in second, third, and fourth thoughts about the idea. But she was the first down the ladder, followed by the other two. The last one, Jim, tossed the ladder up and onto the deck--they would bring it back down when they returned. She handed the ghostly figure--almost a skeleton, in dark but much-patched robes--her compass, and he rowed them through the fog and darkness, bearing north and slightly west. Eventually the bottom of the dinghy ground against sand, and they moved into the foggy jungle to join the fog-shapes already there, waiting for them. The Welshman volunteered to wait where he was, but Chariset took his compass with her, just in case. Unconcerned, he started in on a sandwich.

Two steps into the trees, the fog vanished as though it had never been, though it was just as thick behind them--it was a sharp boundary between the ocean and the island. The beach was black sand, contrasting sharply with the almost-perfect ring of white fog that surrounded the place. It gave the erie impression that the island was actually floating in a sea of mist instead of water.

The island was as close to a perfect circle as she had ever seen, as she considered it from the top of a small hill. It was a volcanic cone whose center had been blown clear away in some massive explosion--the crater that remained had been filled with lush green growth. Wisps of mist clung to all the greenery, surrounding what might have been a large house or a small castle. A dull gray stone fence surrounded the entire crater, dotted here and there with stone watchtowers. No lights were visible.

The entire place was black soil--volcanic rock, really--hardened into treacherous and jagged slopes around the cone. What greenery there was lay in the hollows of the mountainside, mostly sparse trees and some grass. Lichens grew in abundance, tinting the slopes faintly green. On the beach, where there was some flat land, a respectable ring of jungle had sprouted up, but it was a thin belt that trickled away as the cone rose. Still, an entire troop of squirrel monkeys had arrived to greet the seven visitors, scampering in the trees like ambulant furballs.

Her crew was a short distance away, probably deciding where to camp. Chariset would rather find a village and spend the night there rather than lie down on the sand, even though the nights were still warm and they wouldn't need much shelter. For one, those adorable little bits of fur chittering on the branch nearby were also notorious thieves--when her crew got up the next morning, everything shiny within reach would be gone. It was also far too exposed for her taste. This Necromancer, if that was his domain in the volcano crater, would still need certain essentials which only a relatively good-sized town could provide--it seemed reasonable to think she would find one on the other side of the crater, which she couldn't see. 

The men were less happy about the idea, but they eventually agreed to go with her and they packed their belongings off down the beach. Chittering and rustling in the jungle next to them told her that her monkey friends were coming along. They rounded the corner of the cone, and Chariset had the satisfaction of seeing her idea confirmed--a large town stretched from a point midway up the slope down to the beach, which curved inward here in a shallow "c." In its center was a flattened patch of land which had been gardened and cultivated into a small park. This was hardly a common feature of Caribbean towns, so it caught her attention. The houses were made of a darker stone but plastered over and whitewashed, with colorful painted shutters and coppery-red tile roofs. The roads were angled steeply and paved with dark paving stones. But most of the buildings, at least so far as she could tell in the uncertain half-light, were deserted.

The roads twisted and curved up the side of the mountain, through a sort of canyon of houses, full of blind corners. Finally, as Chariset and her six crewmen rounded yet another corner, they found some form of life. An old man, with a respectably long gray beard, was sitting on the front porch of his house, reading by the light of a dented old lantern. It was the only patch of light in an otherwise dark town.

She left the men across the road and approached him alone. "Hello, I-"

"Yer wastin' yer time" the man growled. "I don't want yer merchandise."

Chariset blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Ye heard me." The man hadn't even looked up from his book. "I know yer type. Ye just want ta sell me some magazines or cookies or some such nonsense..well, I don't want any of it. People's been pesterin' ol' Tim ever since that Wizard came to town with his little flunky and I think ye people oughta be ashamed of yerselves." His tone became even more cranky as he went on, apparently unburdening himself with her as a convenient target. "Ye can just go and tell yer little friends that I'm not buyin'."

"I'm not here to sell you anything" she finally managed. "I just need to know where I can find an inn to lodge my crew--"

"--yer troop of marketing boys--"

"--the crew to my ship" Chariset insisted. "We're honest sailors, we just have business here on Sable Island, and we need a place to stay tonight."

Old Tim finally looked up, took in her short coat, sash--and more importantly, her sword--and decided to be friendly. "Who ye be needin' ta see?"

"The Necromancer."

Tim's eyes bulged over his wealth of moustache. "Ye be here ta see _the Wizard_?? No one comes lookin' fer the Wizard, girl. The Wizard comes lookin' fer you."

"That'll make things easier, then" she replied cryptically. He looked blank but she saw no need to enlighten him. "Now, where can we stay the night?"

"There be no inn here--no need fer one, ye see. No one comes to Sable Island, and the folks as live here keep to their own houses at night. It's all because of that flunky, ye see."

She glanced at her crew, who were making themselves comfortable against the walls of the neighboring houses. A deck of cards had emerged. "Who is this..flunky?" she asked the old man.

"Oh, he be a terrible one, he be. Seven feet tall and demon eyes." Oh lovely, she'd found another storyteller. "He guards the gate to the Wizard's domain and no one who goes to see him ever comes back. Sometimes people disappear out of their homes at night, without any reason--they say that that's when the flunky comes and takes them away."

"If no one's ever seen him, how do you know what he looks like?"

Old Tim explained very seriously that he could be seen on moonless nights, walking down the path to the town. He said that only young people, generally teenage boys, fell victim to the abductions of the flunky, "since the Wizard needs 'em to be young, ye see." Chariset was beginning to suspect that the "flunky" was taking the blame for simple runaways. Other boys vanished but were returned a few days earlier with horrible tales of the Necromancer's fortress--she felt a little more inclined to put that down to youthful imagination, but overconfidence didn't seem to be such a good idea considering she was planning to visit a wizard of unknown power alone. 

Eventually he told her that her men could borrow the houses across the way, since they had been vacated, but that he didn't feel he should offer shelter to someone who was there to visit the Wizard. The flunky might not like it, ye see. She finally just nodded and ended the conversation. It wouldn't be the first night she'd gone without sleep.

Back across the street she signalled the men to move into their new quarters, leaving Nic in charge until she should return, then set out up the winding road armed with her sword and a torch, to challenge the Necromancer and his flunky. Nothing was said between them about the possibility that she might not return--they didn't need that dark omen hanging between them. He knew how long to wait before he gave up hope and left her, and she knew he knew, so it all worked out. 

The houses thinned as she climbed the rough road, then finally the road trickled out to nothing, leaving just a black-soil-on-black-rock path to follow. Fortunately the moon rose, conveniently full, so she was able to see where she was going. It was absolutely silent except for the crunching sound of her boots on the path, and absolutely still. She was getting a little nervous--and very tired of black. 

A dull gray wall appeared ahead of her, seeming bright and cheerful compared to the mountainside. There was no gate, but the path curved to the left and ran alongside it for a distance. Then two tall watchtowers, part of the structure of the wall, jutted up ahead of her--the path curved away from the wall and arced in, so that she came in directly facing the gate that lay between them. It was twice as wide as a cart and almost as tall as the formidable Wall itself, though dwarfed by the two towers. The entire thing, if it was designed to intimidate, was succeeding admirably.

Within the arching stones of the gate was absolute blackness. It made every black she had ever seen look dull and pale by comparison--absolutely unfathomable. She couldn't see any sign of a door or portcullis, or even the other side, just..blackness. For the first time, Chariset began to feel afraid. 

She took one slow step forward, then another, holding her torch out ahead of her, hoping to somehow dispel the darkness. It was a futile effort--the blackness within that gate was so heavy it seemed to bear down on the flame, about to snuff it out. She hesitated then for a long second, unable to go forward or turn back, torn between her gut feeling not to enter that doorway and her determination to save Guybrush and destroy LeChuck. Finally she lowered her torch and tried to nerve herself to just shut her eyes and run through as quickly as she could--and then she looked up at the darkness and saw eyes there.

Chariset yelped and leaped back a step, landing in a defensive posture. The red eyes continued to look at her in what she thought was contempt, not moving. Their owner said not a word, so finally she realized she would have to either say something or hold her posture indefinitely. She resorted to a compromise--she drew her sword and then addressed the creature.

"Huh-hello" she said, wishing her voice didn't shake so much. "H-how long have you been sta-anding there?"

"Long enough" replied the voice in a tone of utter, lofty disgust. The voice--and the eyes--were positioned somewhere near the top of the gate. But the tones of the gatekeeper, while evil enough, were definitely male and not quite demonic. 

"I've come to see the Necromancer" she declared.

"Pah...do you think just anyone can walk in here and see the Necromancer?" The evil tone implied that only idiots felt this way.

Fine, she would be idiotic. "I'm here to see him, whether you're in the way or not. This is a matter of life and death."

"Ha! What do you think one of the undead cares about life and death?"

"You, or your Master?"

"I serve no _Master_. I stay here as long as it suits me. And when I abduct and torture the people of Sable Village, I do it because I am an untamable force of _evil_. And when I torture you, I will do it because I enjoy doing things like that. And you can't stop me! I am _invincible_! _Bwahahahaha!!_"

That last laugh was what gave Murray away. Chariset might have run from a seven-foot-tall gatekeeper, but she was _not_ fleeing from a disembodied skull, no matter how fearsome that skull might be. She came forward with two quick steps and slashed in the darkness with a two-handed grip on her sword. "Stop _this_, Murray!"

The cutlass struck wood and broke it with a dry snap. She heard a "hey!" and then something struck the ground inside the gate with a dull, hollow thump. A small, bone-colored object rolled out and came to a halt next to half of what had been its lofty perch. Simulateously, the erie blackness faded out, leaving only a dim view of a green hedge-wall. 

Chariset pointed her sword at the discomfitted skull. "Any more brave words, Murray?"

"How--how did you know?"

She saw no reason to lie. "My brother Guybrush told me all about you."

She'd never seen a speechless skull before. "Your...then..."

"Yes, Murray." She drew herself up. "I'm Chariset Threepwood, mighty...um...err..well, I seem to be between jobs at the moment. But soon you can call me the woman who destroyed LeChuck for good."

"And just where might your brother be?" queried the skull in menacing tones.

To her surprise, Chariset couldn't answer him immediately. She made one or two sounds of an earnest nature, but nothing more came out. 

"I see.." Murray actually sounded disappointed. "This is just great. How am I going to get my revenge _now_?" he whined.

She got a glimmer of an idea. "I honestly don't know whether he's dead" she said as she finished telling Murray about the situation. "He might still be alive, but I can't know until I see the Necromancer." The skull didn't answer. "But if he _is_ alive..."

"..then I can still have my revenge," Murray concluded, as she'd hoped he would. 

"So if you think about it, it would really be in your best interests to help me find the Necromancer, so I can bring Guybrush back to life so you can avenge yourself" suggested Chariset ingenuously.

"I suppose so.." the skull obviously hadn't thought about it in this light. "Okay, pick me up and let's get going."

"Not so fast." She didn't trust Murray at all. "First you have to promise me that you'll give me your full cooperation--and that you won't decide to attack me in the process. Remember, I can't guarantee your revenge, but I'll do my best to save my brother, if for different reasons." Murray grudgingly agreed, and they passed under the gate and into the Necromancer's hedge maze. 

The dense, leafy plants were just high enough that she couldn't see over them, just flexible enough that the sword couldn't really cut them, and just stiff enough that she couldn't force her way through them. Truly a frustrating hedge. "It's magic," Murray told her. "He designed it so the only way to get to him was to go through his maze."

"Do you know how to get through?"

"Yes!" That was said a little too vehemently. "Well, not really..." Murray admitted as Chariset glanced at him. "I never had to actually get through it myself, so I'm not sure."

The hedge channelled them directly forward for a distance before branching into three different paths, two leading ahead like the arms of a Y, while a third continued directly ahead. It looked like the maze was carved into some kind of pattern. The path ahead of them dead-ended in a curving wall, leaving the left or right hand branch as the only possible option. 

"Which way?" she asked.

"Left, I think," responded the skull. She scanned both directions, but they made mirror-image turns and it was impossible to see where they led. Juggling her torch and Murray in one hand, she drew her sword with the other and scratched an arrow in the soil, indicating the way they'd come (in case they needed to backtrack) and took the left branch. 

This made its turn and promptly dead-ended. They retraced their steps and took the other fork. Yet another dead-end. She sighed. 

Murray suggested that they explore the third branch, though it was hard to make out exactly what he was saying (he was helpfully holding the torch for her between his teeth). On closer inspection, the path leading forward divided into two thinner trails which seemed to pass around a small circle. Another arrow on the ground marked that place--she walked around the circle and found it again without any trouble. There was only one other path, leading directly away from the place, so off they went. Perhaps this maze wasn't so difficult, after all.

Then the path forked again, forcing them to choose between three options. Murray suggested right, but she chose to ignore him and go left. Her chosen trail cut a zig-zag course on what appeared to be the outskirts of the place, then intersected with another path at a 'T' angle. This new path stretched away as far as she could see--and all along its right side, at regular intervals, were rectangular openings indicating new trails. Chariset felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

"Where now, Murray?" she said, instinctively keeping her voice down to a whisper.

"Wait..I remember this part," the skull seemed excited. "You just take every second path from here to get to the Necromancer's palace."

"Are you sure?"

"No, but I'm almost sure."

She debated, then finally sheathed her sword and took the second path. It zig-zagged like the first, then ended in a long path with multiple options, like the first. Murray's idea seemed to be working. 

Again they took the second path, then again, then again. It was still dark, but slowly the darker bulk of the Necromancer's fortress could be seen against the lighter fog. Chariset picked up her pace.

Then, almost within reach of the actual place, they rounded a corner and hit a dead end. 

Simultaneously, a low, booming voice said "_You lose_." 

Chariset spun around and saw a heavy iron gate drop shut across their path to freedom--and then the ground dropped out from under their feet. Tumbling helplessly, they fell down into the darkness, accompanied by a high-pitched shriek (hers) and an even-higher pitched one (Murray's). 


	3. Inside the Necromancer's Domain

The Mask of Medusa: Chapter Two

Inside the Necromancer's Domain

* * *

They slid down through absolute darkness, unable to see where they were going or where they were going to land. Chariset had a death-grip on Murray, whose bone jaw hung slackly open, as they slid around and around in a tight spiral. Then they saw a fast-approaching square of light--Chariset cried out involuntarily--and they dropped out of the mouth of the tunnel and onto a deep pile of sand. She lost her grip on Murray and plowed deeply into the pile, rolling over and over, until she came to a stop, spitting out sand. There was no sign of the skull, but some muffled words were coming from someplace nearby. She reached in carefully--and something bit down hard on her finger. She pulled back sharply, and Murray emerged from the sand.

"Ouch" said she, nursing her wounded finger.

"Sorry."

"Where are we?" asked Chariset, shaking sand out of her ponytail.

They were in a dark room made all of stone--stone walls, stone floor, bars on the windows and the wooden door. There was one lone candle trying to light the place, leaving dim moonlight from the high windows to do most of the work. The result was an ambience of dark blue/damp/dungeon, the kind that all good prisons have. 

Chariset tried the door, which of course was locked. The duct they'd fallen out of was too high to reach and probably too steep to climb, and even if the windows were open, only Murray would've been able to get through. She looked through the peephole in the door. No guards. She almost chuckled as she drew her sword and went to work on the lock.

The skull managed to roll over to where she was before she'd coaxed the old, rusty thing open. Eventually it gave--she scooped Murray up and slipped out into the hall.

"Do you know where the Necromancer's..throne room..would be?" she asked Murray, _sotto voce_ and sword drawn.

"Upstairs, I think" 

"Aren't you ever certain about _anything_?"

"I'm certain that I want to see your brother torn limb from limb," came the reply, demonic despite the fact that it was spoken in a whisper.

"We may just have to agree to disagree on that one" she replied, gliding along the wall and looking for a staircase. The stairs, when they found them, were dimly lit and stone--not much danger of detection from a creaky board here. They (well, _she_, since she was the one doing the walking), crouched on the staircase just below the level of the upper floor and cautiously peered out.

"There!" said Murray. A large, plain, stone arch was visible across from the stairs. It was just as dark and gloomy as the rest of the place. She crossed the bare expanse as quickly as she could, crouched low to the stone floor, and slipped inside the arch, stepping immediately to one side and pressing her back flat against the other side of the wall. She listened, but there was no outcry from the hallway.

The hall they had entered was even darker and more gloomy than the rest of the palace--so dark that she couldn't even see the ceiling. The layout was something like that of a church sanctuary from what she could tell, with a wide center aisle flanked by rows of benches on each side. At the front was some sort of low platform with a pattern or a picture she couldn't make out on the wall behind it. The floor was decorated with a dark/light pattern of colored tiles, but everything looked gray in the half-light from the archway. 

Murray had nothing useful to offer, so she stepped away from the wall beside the arch and carefully made her way down the aisle itself towards the--

_SLAM_! The room was plunged into utter darkness as the doors of the archway slammed shut behind her. She jumped and gasped, half turning around--and something thin and cold touched her throat. Chariset shrank back, but the edge of the swordblade followed her. 

"Drop your sword" said an unseen soldier from somewhere above her head. 

She tightened her grip and backed away--into another invisible swordpoint. "I've come to see the Necromancer" she said defiantly to the ring of guards who had somehow surrounded her.

The edge of the sword found her throat again. "You've found him" said the voice. "But no one goes armed into the presence of the Necromancer. Drop your sword." She hestitated, but the edge began to apply pressure and she finally let her cutlass drop. The clanking sound of the metal on tile was the loudest noise in the room.

Instantly the swords let her go, and every candle in the room flared to life. Chariset blinked and shielded her eyes from the sudden burst of light, but not before she saw the tall figures in dark robes holding spears and swords. The Necromancer's hall was lovely--what she could see of it--but the tallest figure, faceless in a hooded robe, motioned her to turn around and precede them to the low platform. She walked down the aisle with the dark figures flanking her, like some honor guard.

Seated on a throne before her was a completely amorphous figure shrouded in a hooded gray robe. He might have been male or female, tall or short, large or small, she couldn't tell. But the hood of the robe was surmounted by a thin circlet of gold and gems, gathering the cloth tight to his/her head, so his face, when he raised his head, was visible. It was heavily lined but not wrinkled, and very pale. His eyes were thickly outlined, giving him the look of a skull, but she suspected cosmetics might be involved, rather than age or magic. 

He held a short staff with a teardrop shape at the top, made of some twisted dark wood--when she came within a few steps of his platform he raised it and motioned her to stop. 

"What brings you to darken my doorstep?" he began in a powerful voice which nevertheless had a reedy undertone, making him sound older than he looked.

"Are you the Necromancer?" she asked instead of answering him.

This seemed to enrage him. "You give me _insolence_?!" he hissed, voice rising in pitch and only increasing her opinion that he was really a much older man. "You come here uninvited, you irritate the townspeople, you subvert one of my guards.." Murray wiggled uncomfortably in her hands, "..break into my palace, and draw steel on one of my servants, and still you dare refuse to answer me, in my own throne room??" Chariset still did not answer him, which seemed to irritate him further. "Speak, girl!"

"I've come to darken the Necromancer's doorstep" she said at last. "If the need were not desperate, I would not have come. If you are not the Necromancer, then I will go find and annoy him, and leave you alone." There was not the least apology in her voice, and the light in his eyes grew brighter the more she said. She could feel the anxiety radiating from the servants who flanked her.

He actually vibrated for a moment, then burst out "_I am _theNecromancer!! But if you think you'll get help from me, you're out of your mind!" He started to motion with his staff..

..and she, seeing her chance slipping away, desperately surged forward a few steps, hearing the astonished gasps of the robed attendants. "I came because you have something that no one else has. You're my only chance. I didn't risk coming to Sable Island just for the fun of it, Wizard, and I don't want to stay. I just want to find what I've come for and get out of here. And when I go, I'll take this guard that I subverted with me."

He froze, but whether he was astonished or outraged, she couldn't tell. "You've come highly recommended" she went on, looking into his eyes, being as sincere as she could. "A woman on Plunder Island, a voodoo priestess, sent me to you. She said that only you can help me."

The Necromancer lowered his head completely for a moment, while the attendants held their breath and Chariset frantically wondered how she would save her brother if the worst happened and he threw her out. But then he raised his head and she saw tears glitter in his eyes. "She said that, did she? Ah...Meren..you were always so kind to me..."

"She gave me this to give to you" she added, wondering what the connection was between this old stick and the warm, gentle Voodoo Priestess. He took the coin from her with an almost shy reverence, holding in his palms and stroking it gently with the fingers of his other hand. He pressed it to his chest with both hands, eyes closed, rocking gently in his throne, almost smiling behind the white paint and the deep-set lines.

"Leave us" he said finally to the servants, who vanished silently. When he looked up again, he had glistening streaks on his cheeks, marring the white paint. "You don't know what this means to me" he said in a shaking voice. "For you, and for my Meren, I'll grant your request. And I will pardon my treacherous soldier, there" he added to Murray, who was as close to shrinking as she had ever seen the self-possessed, evil skull. 

Chariset swallowed, but resisted the urge to shrink away herself. "Do you know of the Zombie Pirate LeChuck?" she began.

The Necromancer listened, coin pressed tightly to his chest, as Chariset told him about her brother's adventures, condensed, then about the attack at sea and the disappearance of Elaine. She described with as much detail as she could her visit to the priestess, some of which brought a few more tears to his eyes. Despite herself, she felt a great deal of affection for this lonely wizard. But then she came to the dangerous place of her narrative. "She said you had a magic item, an amulet, than can undo every magic ever cast," she looked up anxiously but he just nodded, "and that only if I could convince you to let me borrow your amulet, then I could free Guybrush and destroy LeChuck once and for all," she finished in a rush.

He hid his face again, and she held her breath. "You have given me hope again" he began in a regretful voice, "and so it pains me to tell you that I cannot help you in return." She felt a sharp blow of disappointment at this, but he went on. "This is indeed an amulet of incredible power, too dangerous to entrust to just anyone. I am bound to test everyone who comes asking to use it, to see whether his heart is pure enough that the temptation for evil would not overcome him. Surely you understand?" He actually seemed to need her answer, so she nodded. 

"Could you..test me..then?" she asked.

"Not without equipment which I don't have" he replied. "And coming up with an equivalent test would be hard to do."

She thought for a moment. "I know sailing, swordfighting, and all kinds of piratey skills--but I'm not a pirate at heart. If you were to put me somewhere where it would be easier to be like a pirate for the sake of the moment than go with what I believe, would that be enough to know whether I would misuse the amulet?"

"Hmmm...it might..." The Necromancer pondered for a moment. "I think I know how to devise such a test. Give me until morning to think of something--in the meantime, why don't you go use one of the guest rooms? It looks like you've had a hard night."

Chariset accepted without protest, set Murray down on the tiles, and let herself be escorted away. She was given a lovely apartment but hardly had time to notice it--the moment she lay down on the four-poster bed, she was asleep. 

The next morning she found a nearly jubilant Murray waiting for her near a heaping breakfast table. But all he would say was "Your sword's there on the counter--take it, you'll need it." It seemed that he and the Necromancer had come up with some sort of trial during the night, but she did her best not to hope too much. When she was finished, they returned to the wizard's great hall.

The pew-like benches apparently could be moved, because the entire floor-space was cleared and swept recently (dust-motes danced in the sunbeams from the east windows). The Necromancer was in his throne amidst a crowd of his robed servants, but they parted as she and Murray approached. He was in full attire--in addition to the crown and the staff he wore heavy bracelets of gold, multi-colored robes and an elaborate mask of makeup. If she had first met him like this, she would have been afraid of him. 

He was also in high spirits, almost grinning as he explained to her the solution Murray and he had come up with. "About a week ago we captured a pirate captain who happened to run his ship aground on the island--an insufferable creature. We've been keeping him prisoner ever since, simply because we don't know what to do with him." But now, he explained, they saw their chance to sort things out. "I'm arranging a duel between you two, right here--the winner will get what he or she needs and will be allowed to determine the other's fate. For you, that means the amulet, for him that means repairs to his ship and freedom. His cause is as desperate as yours, so it should be a fair match." She nodded. "Are you willing?"

Chariset considered, but she felt that she could defeat a pirate at swordplay. The issue was where this test of her moral character would fall. "I'm willing. The sooner the better, in fact."

"Then let us begin." She stepped into the center of the hall as the Necromancer called out (for show, she was certain), "Bring in the prisoner!"

A circle of dark robes led in a dicomfitted Captain, tall, broad-shouldered, and possessed of an impressive great-coat and thin moustache, but otherwise nearly bald and disheveled. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked in a French accent, sounding imperious even as a captive.

"You have come to decide your fate, Captain Rottingham" replied the Necromancer in the same cool tones he had first used on her. "If you can defeat our chosen champion here in a duel, you will be given your freedom and will be allowed to decide her fate; if she wins, she decides yours."

"What does she get out of the bargain?" asked Rottingham suspiciously, eying her.

"That is not important. You agreed to these terms last night. Choose now whether you will abide by them or forfeit now."

"All right, all right, I accept already," growled the Frenchman irritably. The circle of attendants was joined by others, expanding until it enclosed a large space in the center of the hall. They incorporated the Necromancer's throne into it, giving him a clear view of the two combatants in the center. All of them were armed, including the tall one who pushed an enormous cutlass across the tiles to Rene Rottingham. He picked it up and she crossed the floor to engage blades with him. 

The wizard gave the order to begin. Chariset braced herself, but Rottingham just sneered at her. "You have the sex-appeal of a Shar-Pei" he said with contempt.

She blinked. "What?" Rottingham took advantage of her confusion to attack, driving her back a few steps closer to the wall of robes. 

"Your lips look like they belong on the catch of the day!"

Again she had to retreat as he charged at her, moving even closer to the edge of the circle. His attacks were heavy and clumsy and she'd have had no trouble getting through them if she could recover enough to attack, but she didn't know how to react to this barrage of insults. That wasn't how they fought it in the Governer's army--and he was making her angry.

"Your looks would make pigs nauseated!" Rottingham greedily took more ground as she realized that one more retreat would trap her against the wall of bodies. She wanted to insult him back--probably should, in fact--but it just wasn't her style to defeat an opponent with what she personally considered a dirty trick. But it looked like if she didn't, she'd lose the match.

Rottingham was so close now she could almost look up his lofty nostrils. "You--" he began.

But that was enough for her--she lunged at him unexpectedly, brought her sword down on his with two sharp blows, then caught it in a bind and wrenched it out of his hand. The heavy cutlass rang against the floor and she kicked it out of his reach, resting her wicked little swordpoint against his stomach. His piggish eyes were open wide and he panted for breath. 

"What...how...who are you?" he finally demanded.

She allowed herself a small, evil smile. "My name is Chariset Threepwood."

For some reason, that seemed to completely unnerve the self-possessed Frenchman--his eyes went round and he bolted for the wall, winding up in the pointy embrace of a dozen weapons, screaming "_Mercy_! No! Not another _Threepwood_!!"   


* * *

"Have you decided his fate, Chariset?" asked the wizard.

"Yes, Necromancer. I want you to return him to his ship, get it repaired...and send him far, far away from here. Let him pirate waters on the other side of the Caribbean for a while."

He only nodded. "It shall be done. But now comes the issue of your own reward." He motioned for her to come and kneel before him, as he reached inside the neckline of his colorful robes. The aging wizard drew out a strange necklace on a thin leather cord--long, rectangular glass beads in rainbow colors hung evenly on it, spaced by smaller, coppery beads. Its centerpiece was a flat, hollow teardrop shape, point upwards, and in the center of the teardrop's base was set a faceted white stone, clear as glass. It was not beautiful in the conventional sense, but it was still striking.

As she knelt, he pushed back his hood, slipped it over his head, and placed it carefully around her neck. It tingled briefly and then went still. "Be careful with it, Chariset. Even I don't know the full extent of its power. And return it to me when you can." 

"I will, Necromancer," she promised. "And thank you."

He was wearing the Voodoo Priestess' coin on a cord around his neck. "Thank _you_. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?"

She pondered. "My ship is grounded on a sandbar on the other side of the island--could you help us get it free?"

"I can send you instantly to your destination, if you so desire. You are bound to Plunder Island, to free your brother? And after that, to LeChuck?" She nodded.

"There is one more thing," he paused, placing a finger on his lips. "You intend to use the amulet to destroy LeChuck?" he ventured. "Have you thought about how you shall do it?"

"How do you mean?"

"To be blunt, do you expect that he will let you and your brother just walk up and place it around his neck?"

Chariset bit her lip. "I hadn't thought about that" she admitted. 

"I have an idea that may help you. Have you ever heard of Myth Island?"

She hadn't. "You will find it on the very eastern edge of the Caribbean Sea, on any good map. There, you will find the Mask of Medusa."

"Medusa? But she was just a character in a story!"

"Yes. But long ago, another great wizard was inspired by her tale to create an object that could turn objects, even people, into stone. With it, you can stop LeChuck long enough to use the amulet on him, if you can persuade the inhabitants to part with it."

This was all sounding far too familiar. Chariset tried not to sigh. "I'll go there as soon as I've freed Guybrush" she said at last. "But there's one more favor I need to ask of you."

"Yes?"

"There's a man on the shore near our ship, a Welshman, who was on his way to Scabb Island but got lost in the fog. Can you--?"

"It is as good as done, child. Now go gather your crew and meet in the village square in an hour. I'll see you safely as far as Plunder Island. Just take every left turn to get out of the maze." 

She turned around to thank him once again, but he had vanished without a sound. He was a true wizard indeed, she realized with a shiver, before Murray bumped against her leg. Scooping him up automatically, she made her way back into town.

The hour was nearly over before she and all of her crew were assembled, some casting suspicious looks on the animate talking skull she'd acquired (but refused to explain). Then an odd tingle enveloped them all, together with a heavy fog, and when it lifted--

--they were on Plunder Island. In a cove on the northwest side, to be precise, once called Danjer Cove but currently unnamed. The Necromancer, unfamiliar with the area, must have judged it the best place to set them down. 

A chorus of gasps and mutterings emerged from her crew--she turned to see them huddled together near the shore, astonished to find themselves suddenly transported to a strange beach. The Sea Cucumber bobbed in the water nearby, unconcerned. She was too impatient to explain the entire story to them, so she told the basics to Nic and sent them all back to the ship in a convenient rowboat to await her return. Accompanied only by Murray, she hurried up a twisting, narrow path back into town.

Haggis, Cutthroat Bill, and Edward van Helgen stood around her as she gave them a bare-bones account of her visit to the Necromancer. Murray kept silent, so she let them assume he was just a macabre souvenir. In the back room, she found her brother looking just as he had when she'd left him, albeit covered with small jars of milk and other perishables. 

"We've been usin' 'im ta keep things cold," Haggis explained apologetically. "It's been real convenient havin' him around." The other two nodded.

"If any of this ice is left when I break the spell, you three are welcome to it," Chariset promised, setting Murray on a nearby shelf and gently removing the assorted jars and containers from the top of the ice-block. 

And now it had come--the moment of truth. It was time to find out if this amulet would actually work--and whether Guybrush was still alive. _Whether he's dead_, she made herself think. _He might be_._ It's been a long time_. _Can I handle LeChuck myself if he is?_ Haggis and Bill flanked her as she slipped the amulet over her head, took a shaky breath, and pressed the entire thing into the block of ice with both hands, just over Guybrush's heart. 

For an eternity (or maybe just a second), nothing happened. Then the thing began to grow warm in her hands as light slowly filled the glass beads, rising like a miniature sun and filling the room with color. Red, green, yellow, purple light glowed from between her hands, casting beams over the walls. Behind her, van Helgen let out an "oooohhh."

Then the keystone, the white crystal, came to life, shining with a severe white light that yet had some trace of the other colors within it. It blazed so brightly that Chariset was unable to look at it, and yet she saw clearly when the ice began to fissure. It cracked, once, twice, an entire glowing network of cracks spreading out from the keystone and filling the entire block with a borrowed radiance. Something warned her to step back--

--just as the block exploded. Fragments of magical ice scattered all around as she stepped away, and something light blue fell forward into Haggis' arms. Guybrush half-stood on the remnants of the block, slumped across one of the barber pirate's massive arms, his own hands dangling limply towards the ground, eyes still closed, completely unresponsive.

_He's dead_... Something inside Chariset died, too, in that moment, as she realized that, despite all her efforts, her brother was no more. She would have to go on without him and face LeChuck alone. For a minute, the thought was more than she could-

A slow, labored gasp for air broke the silence. He was breathing. Impulsively, she took the amulet, quiescent in her hands since the block had broken, and slipped it over his neck. 

A steady, warm glow pulsed from the central stone, driving away the sickly palor from Guybrush's face, and his breathing returned to normal, steady, if slow. His hands returned to life first, fingers twitching, then life slowly spread to his arms, down his legs, until he was almost standing normally (though Haggis continued to support most of his weight). She raised a hand instinctively to his face just as the glow faded from the amulet and he opened his eyes. 

Blank incomprehension was written there for a second, then slowly he blinked and refocused on her. "Chariset..." he said hoarsely. "What..?"

She swallowed hard and raised her other hand to his shoulder. "Guybrush...what is the last thing you remember?"

"We were at sea...on the Sea Cucumber.." he began, looking nervous at her serious tone. "Why?"

He wasn't making this any easier on her. "Do you remember..there was a storm....?"

"Right, and we were going to take your ship, and Elaine...." He stopped short, eyes widening. "Elaine.." he whispered, a slow horror that was infinitely painful for Chariset to watch spreading across his face. "_Elaine!_" 

Somehow, Haggis managed to extricate himself, and he and his fellow barbers vanished as she wrapped her arms tightly around her brother and held him close. Guybrush never sobbed, his pain was too deep even for that, but she could feel him vibrating with pent-up grief. Murray said nothing in all the eternity they stood clinched together, perhaps because there was no worse revenge to be taken than already had. She heard the thump as he, too, rolled out the door and left them in privacy. "Let it go," she whispered into the silence of the empty room, stroking her brother's hair like she might a small child's.

"Elaine...oh, Elaine..." It was the most hearbreaking sound she had ever heard. Then long moments passed without any words at all, just Chariset as sole witness to the sight of Guybrush Threepwood, mighty pirate, crying for the loss of his beloved Elaine.    


* * *

Morning and Murray found them sitting together on the bed, leaning on one another, both sound asleep. "Psst...hey!" he called softly. 

Guybrush was the first to move. He opened eyes that were weary but human on the demonic skull, making Murray feel a bit low. 

"Um...are you all right?" he offered.

"I'm okay, Murray," Guybrush reassured, and he actually _sounded _okay, all things considering. "We're going to get her back. And we're going to settle LeChuck for good. Chari's found a way to do it." As he spoke he pulled slightly away from his sleeping sister, took off the amulet, and set it back in place around her neck.

"Can...can I come with you?" 

He blinked. "Why? Why would you want to?"

Murray contorted his skull face into the familiar evil scowl. "For my own reasons. Bwahahahahaha!"

"Do those reasons happen to involve..oh, revenge..perhaps?" asked Guybrush with a raised eyebrow and a trace of his old sense of humor.

"Yesss..but not on you. And besides, there's not much for a disembodied demonic skull to do around here."

Guybrush actually chuckled. "I suppose you have a point. All right, you can come with us."

"Oh _no_.." commented Chariset without opening her eyes. "You mean I'm going to have to explain you to my crew after all?!"


	4. Interlude

The Mask of Medusa: Interlude

The Bride of LeChuck

* * *

Elaine Marley sat before a mirror in a luxurious subterranean apartment beneath Monkey Island, examining her black-clad reflection with a critical eye. Her hair, always red, was now quite literally flaming red; it suited her complexion, she thought, and brought out that attractive tinge of red in her eyes. Her looks pleased her, just as everything had pleased her since she came here to join the immortals and be with the one man she truly loved. How or when she had come here eluded her, but that was no longer important. What did matter was that she was here, now, on this her wedding day. Today she was finally going to marry her true love--and then maybe she'd be able to silence those disturbing thoughts for good.

Again, normally she was very happy to be here, but sometimes she heard strange voices in her head, voices that whispered to her and told her about the life she'd had before she became immortal. They told her that once she had been a Governor and had ruled islands, had fought in battles. Sometimes they said things that disturbed her peace, and told her that she had once hated the man she loved--that she had really loved another man and had proudly worn his diamond ring. 

And that was sheer nonsense, she knew; she wore only one man's diamond, and it was her LeChuck's. It was a diamond to be proud of, really, a black gem of impressive size, shining with black rainbow colors. _And anyway, I was only half-alive then_, she thought. _I came here to be with LeChuck. I love him. He loves me_. He always told her so, and she always believed him. _How could I have loved anyone else?_

A knock on her door announced her attendants, who came to escort her to the altar. She trembled with excitement as they reached the gilded doors of the chapel and threw them wide open.

The music swelled. At the front of the sanctuary, LeChuck stood, his magnificent beard blazing with blue flame, fire that burned with icy cold. She was the fire to his ice. Her eyes were only for him as she strode down the aisle, smiling, carrying her black bouquet, to be his bride for all eternity.

And, deep within her heart, a voice whispered _Guybrush_...

..and a single tear trickled down her cheek, much to the consternation of her LeChuck, but she couldn't stop it, or even explain why she cried.


	5. A Myth Made Real

The Mask of Medusa: Chapter Three

A Myth Made Real

* * *

"One more trip should do it" said Guybrush as their little group finished stowing away their provisions and began the return trip to Puerto Pollo. Having the Sea Cucumber moored in Danjer Cove was becoming somewhat inconvenient now that her crew had to trek halfway across the island to load her for the journey to Myth Island. But at least the actual hauling was light work, since there were so many of them to share the task. Almost all of the normal provisions were already loaded, such as food, water, and a large barrel of tar that Haggis had insisted they take along (Chariset had given him an odd look when he chuckled at that), so this last trip was just to gather up personal belongings and say their goodbyes. 

He couldn't have been more eager to be gone--he'd seen quite enough of Plunder Island in the last six months he'd spent there since he married Elaine (it still hurt to think about her, so he tried not to). But they'd been delayed almost a week since he'd been freed from the ice-block by a large storm over Plunder, and it gave him more opportunity to speculate about what might have happened to the woman he loved than he really wanted or needed. He'd spent his days with Chari or Murray, buying supplies, or doing odd jobs for the Barbery trio, but there was nothing to occupy the long, lonely nights. He needed to get out on the sea again and do something.

Guybrush and Chariset were in the backroom packing up the extra clothes the barbery three had found for them when they heard Haggis remark "Now that's strange."

"What's strange, Haggis?" he asked. 

"Thar's an entire fleet of ships coming inta the harbor" came the puzzled reply. "And I don' recognize the flag that they're flyin'."

Chari's head came up sharply at that--they turned as one and hurried to the front window.

The window offered a panoramic view of Plunder's deep natural harbor--and from sandbar to sandbar the horizon was a solid white mass of sails. He heard Chari's gasp at the sight; there must have been thirty warships all in a row, preceded by three smaller vessels. One of them was unmistakably the Seahorse. 

"It's the Governor's navy" she said at last, pointing out the red banners with three golden fleur-de-lis flowers running across them. "But how in the world did they get here so fast?"

Guybrush squinted at the third ship in the honored trio. "I've got a better question--whose flag is the Seahorse flying?"

She shaded her eyes with her hand and peered. The odd black flag flared to life in a sudden wind and she dropped her hand in shock. "That's...that's _Horace Deadeyes'_ flag!" The figure of a man's face with black circles for eyes was clearly visible. Her expression changed from shock to anger. "Why that little...he's brought the entire navy over from Scabb Island--where it's really needed--_and_ he's claimed my ship!" 

"He wouldn't have time to bring the navy over in a week," Guybrush pointed out. "They must have been coming over to see what happened with..Governor Marley."

"..Governor Threepwood," she corrected softly. "Right, that must be it. But I'm _still_ getting my ship back."

The Seahorse and the two others docked, while the others formed a blockade across the mouth of the bay. A chill ran down his spine when he realized that they were placed there so that nothing could leave the island. And Chariset, with her feminine intuition, was looking a bit worried as well. When Horace--in a Captain's coat, no less--came striding up the docks flanked by two large officers and an armed guard, she seemed to have changed her mind about demanding the Seahorse back.

"Guybrush..I have a bad feeling about this.."

_Get yourselves out of sight_, said his instincts. "Quick, into the back room. We'll hide until we know what's going on." They ducked through the doorway, staying low, and pressed their ears against the dividing wall.

The men must have chosen the barber shop at their first port-of-call, since not long after they heard heavy boots tramping on the floor. They heard a sharp snap as some sort of poster was dramatically unrolled. 

"We're looking for this woman," said a male voice imperiously. It could only be Deadeyes. "Have you seen her?"

"Nice looking lass," commented Haggis' voice. "But we haven' seen anyone like that around here."

"Are you sure? Look closer.." More bootsteps. "I have five thousand pieces of eight that'll make it worth your while..."

"Ye can keep yer money..we haven't seen 'er," replied Haggis stoutly. "But just out of curiosity, what'd the lass do?"

The male voice took on a 'well, if you want to play it _that_ way' tone. "She's a renegade Captain and a traitor to the Governor's navy. She subverted over half of my crew to join her in a pirate ship and seek out an occult sorcerer." Guybrush glanced at Chari and saw her turning white as she realized that they meant _her_. 

Another voice. "We believe she may have been responsible for the disappearance and presumed death of the Governor and her husband. We have orders to arrest her and bring her to trial on Phatt Island."

Deadeyes again. "Now..for _six_ thousand pieces of eight...do you know where we might find this woman?"

"Six thousand.."he heard Bill murmur. Beside him, Chari tensed.

"I'm sorry..we haven't seen 'er." Haggis' tone was final.

The bootsteps receded, and she sank against the wall, looking wild-eyed and desperate. His heart went out to her.

"Chari, we'll have to run, get out to the ship and make a run for it.."

"..what about the barbers? We can't just leave them."

"They'll be safe. You can't stay here. Governor Phatt won't let you live.."

"..there's got to be some other way, Guybrush.."

"You'll only get yourself arrested. If Bill doesn't, Kenny'll turn you in..."

A sigh. "Okay, let's do it.."

They fled into the jungle like common criminals, packing their luggage on their backs, running for their lives. Behind them, somewhere back in town, a red-headed boy was saying "I'll tell you..if you'll buy some of my watermelon.."   


* * *

A week passed at sea, then two. It was obvious to Guybrush that being branded a criminal and a traitor was taking its toll on his sister, despite the fact that her crew were taking to their new status as "outlaws" with amusement and high spirits. She told him that it was more than just the loss of her good name, that she'd never suspected Horace would betray her and that it bothered her to so completely misjudge someone. But he knew that the loss of her reputation did bother her, whatever she said, since she'd worked at being a good Captain almost as long as he'd worked at being a pirate. He privately swore that he and Elaine, when all of this was over, would clear her name of Deadeyes' false charges.

At last, however, they finally saw their destination, and she completely forgot her purple funk momentarily at their first sight of Myth Island. Mouths (and one bone jaw) were dropping open all over the ship as their owners took in the elegant diamond-shaped island with a sloping, graceful hill in its center, and, most of all, the glistening white Greek temple that stood prominently on its west slope. With its white pillars and triangular roof, it looked like an ornate hair ornament for the flowing green tresses of the island.

They circled the island on the temple side, admiring the huge garden that surrounded it, but unfortunately the only port was on the other side of the island. There they found another small town that reminded him faintly of Puerto Pollo, with more brilliantly white-washed walls and colorful tile roofs. The streets were white cobblestone and spotlessly clean. 

"You have no idea how bright this looks compared to Sable Island," spoke up Nic for the entire crew. 

The island was divided lengthwise down the diamond shape into two unequal halves by the hill. The town and its small grove of outbuildings and cemetery occupied one half, while the temple and its garden had the other. On a low spit of land extending outward from the foremost point of the diamond was a stubby lighthouse. Upon docking the Sea Cucumber, they saw a wide avenue running directly into town from the harbor, lined with small shops and a small café. 

Fees were paid and the ship was locked up tight, then Chariset, who was still acting Captain, dismissed her restless crew for a few days shore leave. One or two of them offered to take Murray along with them (inexplicably, they liked the demonic skull), but he elected to remain with Guybrush and Chariset.

"So where to?" he asked as she settled Murray comfortably under one arm. 

"The temple," she said immediately, as he'd thought she might. Chari seemed more at ease than she had in some time, perhaps because she had also needed to be doing something, or perhaps because adventuring was becoming more familiar to her. She even laughed when people did double-takes at the demonic skull she was carrying through a crowded town--once or twice they flinched away with wide-eyes and whispered nervously to their companions as Murray scowled frighteningly at them. He was enjoying himself too. Guybrush was just relieved that he had abandoned (for now) his obsession for revenge. Even the long climb over Myth Island's hill was bearable (the view was worth all the effort it took). Something about the flowering hedges and the temple with the blue sea as a backdrop was indescribably beautiful and he and Chariset frequently stumbled as they forgot to watch their footing.

The main path into the complex was guarded by a gate set in the hedge-wall, and a short, plump little man in a toga who was evidently trying to hide his baldness with a laurel wreath blocked their way with a spear. "Ah, students.." he muttered with minimal enthusiasm. "Welcome to New Athens," he said in a louder voice but without much warmth. "Do you come to seek instruction in the arts, or do you merely wish to worship?"

"We seek the Mask of Medusa" spoke up Chari from behind Guybrush. The man's eyes narrowed as she approached, and he realized that the man must be somewhat near-sighted.

"I'm sorry, we are not accepting women as students at this time," monotoned the man. _Or ever_, his tone implied. "Not after that last one. And I have no idea what..mask you're talking about." He dismissed her entirely as unworthy of his attention. "And as for you, if you wish to join our community, you must be properly attired," he scolded Guybrush.

Chariset was frowning darkly. "But what's proper attire?" asked the pirate. 

"A toga. Come back in a proper Greek toga and then we'll talk."

A toga? Where in the world was he going to find a toga?? His dismay must have been plain to see, because it actually seemed to lighten his sister's mood. The sentry had already returned to whatever mystical contemplation he'd been drowning in.

"I have an idea about that," she said, smiling mysteriously. "Let's go see what we can find in town."   


* * *

"What do you suppose he meant by "that last one"?" she asked as they meandered back into town on a paved trail. The route took them past the small cemetery and into town the back way, but it was easier on their legs than the trail over the hill.

"Some other woman student, I guess," he replied absent-mindedly, more concerned over how to get a toga.

"I wonder if she's still in town.." mused Chari. "It sounded like he was trying to avoid the whole mask topic..."

"..mmhmm.."

"..maybe she'd know something about it."

"Can't hurt to look," he agreed, heading for that wide avenue of shops leading from the docks.

The shops all had wide signboards hanging above or near their doors, generally just pictures depicting what was for sale there. One or two were general merchandise, one was a bakery with a neighboring butcher's shop, two were inns, and the rest appeared to be moreso. He was just about to suggest that they split up and investigate individually when a tiny shop at the end of the block caught his eye. A paintbrush and palette were depicted on the signboard, but underneath them was "Myth Island Painting and Supplies" in graceful blue letters. By unspoken agreement, they both turned and walked over to investigate.

Inside was just as tiny as the outside--a desk that seemed to be proportioned for a child stood against one wall, complete with an equally small chair. The windows were so small that Guybrush felt certain he could put them in his pockets with room to spare (okay, he could put most things in his pockets with room to spare, but you get the point). And the ceiling was so low that he felt a touch claustrophobic. A small, arched doorway, half-blocked by a curtain, led into another small room that appeared to contain an equally small kitchen. On the desk sat a small placard that named the proprietor as "Hollander C. Feed."

"Reminds me of that dollhouse of yours," Chariset commented.

"That was _your _dollhouse, Setti." 

"Then why were _you_ always the one playing with it, Guyber?" 

This had degenerated into the war of the childhood nicknames. "Technically, it's yours."

She never missed a beat. "Practically, it's yours."

Hands on hips. "And do you know what'll happen to my reputation as a mighty pirate if that gets out?"

She crossed her arms across her chest and arched an eyebrow. "Oh, _unlike_ the wonders it does to mine when you tell everyone I played with dolls."

"At least--"

That was as far as their argument got, because a female voice interrupted them. "I'm sorry...I'll be with you in a minute."

Guybrush and Chariset grinned a truce at each other and surveyed the room. The small walls were covered with small paintings, painted ceramic figures on shelves, and, covering one whole side, masks. They were mostly wooden or (shudder) porcelain, with bright painted surfaces and occasionally bits of glass for eyes. It was obvious that Hollander plied her trade from right here in the front room, since the desk was cluttered with paints, brushes, and sketches. 

Then Hollander herself appeared, and Guybrush caught himself staring. She was a petite redhead, standing perhaps half as tall as Chariset, with close-cut hair and dark eyes. But more than that, she bore a startling resemblance to..

"Wally!" The tiny woman stopped short, startled, and Guybrush regretted his outburst. "I'm sorry, but you look just like someone I know."

She recovered her composure. "A cartographer, right? Wally B. Feed? Used to have a shop on Scabb Island...that is, until that _Threepwood_ got ahold of him." Hollander spat out the name like a curse, and Chari shot him a look that said "What did you _do_?" "I'm Holly, by the way. What's your name?"

"Uhh.." he looked at his sister in mute appeal.

She stepped in and saved him. "I'm Chariset, and this is my brother Guybrush." He held his breath, but that didn't seem to register with Holly. "What do you know about New Athens?"

"Ha! What do you want to know about _them_?" Holly was apparently a person of strong opinions. "They're a reclusive, exclusive lot of free-booters. Have nothing to do with them."

"Then you wouldn't know..how to enroll at their school?"ventured Guybrush, trying to do his part.

That hit home. "I know plenty about that school. It's not worth your time" said Holly bitterly. 

"We've been there," said Chari gently. "They weren't exactly...reasonable."

The girl snorted. "I'll bet."

"But they have something we need," she continued. "If only we could find someone who'd been inside and could give us some help."

Holly seemed to be of a helpful sort. "I was there...once."

"What happened?" asked Guybrush sympathetically.

"There was an accident.." Holly looked down. "A special artifact got broken. A mask that was sacred to them."

Guybrush drew in a sharp breath, disappointed. Next to him, Chari did the same. Holly blinked at them in confusion. "What?"

"I think that mask was what we were looking for," admitted Chariset finally. "We're looking for an object called the Mask of Medusa."

"That was it, then," the redhead nodded, looking bleak. "There's nothing left of it but the two eye-stones.

"Then how am I going to destroy LeChuck and save Elaine?" Guybrush blurted out, feeling despair creeping up on him.

That was exactly the wrong thing to say. Several emotions came together in Holly's eyes, then she sprang up and backed away as though she'd seen a ghost, almost literally unable to speak. "Good _God_!" she cried finally. "You're _that_ Guybrush?!!" He opened his mouth to explain, but she had a wild look on her face--scanning the room for a weapon, she finally seized a sharp awl and advanced on him with it. "Get out! Get _out_!!" She lunged forward on her short legs, wielding the awl with deadly intent. "You murderer!" she snarled. "Where's my brother now? I suppose you came for me now, too." Guybrush, who was no fool, was backing towards the door, but she continued to advance on him. She swiped empty air twice with the wicked little point as twice he narrowly evaded her.

Then suddenly Chariset interposed herself between his fierce little attacker and himself, sword drawn. "Stop," she said, voice hard. "We are not your enemy."

"Like _hell_!" Holly's voice was shrill as she stabbed at Chari, but his sister parried the wild attacks with ease. Panting, she finally subsided, though she continued to glare with unabated fury.

"Listen to me. Guybrush is not the one who kidnaped your brother. The Zombie Pirate LeChuck came after him and Wally just happened to be in the way. My brother never meant for it to happen. He put himself in danger trying to rescue your brother and he nearly succeeded."

"He left him there to die!"

"He had no choice. But Wally would never have been there in the first place if LeChuck hadn't kidnaped him."

"He would never have been kidnaped if it hadn't been for you, _Threepwood_, and those four map pieces," Holly continued with venom in Guybrush's direction.

Chariset sighed. "Perhaps so," she admitted. "But Guybrush didn't know he was putting Wally in danger. LeChuck most certainly did know, and he kidnaped your brother a second time when he managed to escape from his ship."

Holly's eyes widened at that. "I didn't know that part.." she mumbled.

"LeChuck's hurt us all," she concluded. "But if you'll help us, Holly, Guybrush and I will challenge LeChuck, and this time we'll beat him, once and for all. And while we're at it, we're going to free everyone that LeChuck's captured, including Wally."

She had spoken with enough fierce enthusiasm in her voice to win Holly over. "Okay. But_ he_ stays outside."

"That seems only fair," she agreed, and Guybrush took himself out the door, pausing just outside so he could listen in.

"What do you know about the Mask of Medusa?" he asked softly. Chari relayed the question.

"It's just a mask," came the reply. "The real power is in the two gems that go in its eyes."

"And those gems are still all right, after the accident?"

"Sure. They just need a new mask. But after the accident, the elders won't let me try again. They don't trust me."

"Suppose we got the jewels somehow. Could you make a new mask and set them in place?" suggested Guybrush.

Holly laughed. "Sure, I guess. But you wouldn't be able to get them. The elders have set them in an idol of Athena and they worship her...they'll never part with them."

"Can you make us a mask for them?" asked Chariset. 

"I've got a blank mask-form that should work, but it's unpainted. And I don't have time to work on it myself--you'll have to paint it on your own."

"I have a better idea," Guybrush put it. "I'll go to the temple and see about borrowing the stones for a while," a snort from Holly punctuated that, "while Chari stays here and paints the mask."

His sister nodded. "I can paint decently well, and we can pay you for the mask and supplies. And even if Guybrush doesn't get the jewels, we'll still pay you. Sound fair enough?"

That was acceptable. "Now what do I do about a toga?" mused Guybrush.

To his surprise, Holly chipped in. "I have a whole lot of thin canvas for painting--you can borrow that. You'll just need something to tie it with."

"And there's some cord in the Sea Cucumber that no one's using. Why don't you take Murray and see what you can come up with?" suggested his sister.

The demonic skull had been so quiet that Guybrush had forgotten he was there. "Okay, we'll see what we can do," he promised, and left the two girls to their work.   


* * *

About half and hour later, Murray impatiently paced (well, rolled) back and forth on the deck, waiting for Guybrush to emerge from the Captain's cabin where he'd hidden himself. "Are you done yet?" he asked for the tenth time.

"Almost, Murray," answered Guybrush for the eighth time. "I feel so naked in this thing!"

Then the door opened, and the mighty be-toga'd pirate emerged, walking stiffly and looking quite ridiculous. If Murray hadn't already been dead, he'd have died of laughter. 

"All right, all right, Murray," said Guybrush irritably after the third straight minute of laughter.

"Heheha..oh, I'm sorry.. But if you could only see yourself..." he dissolved again into demonic hilarity.

Guybrush in a toga was really something that had to be seen to be believed, but essentially he was all long, skinny limbs and knobby joints surrounded by a wadded-up mass of white cloth. After a while, Murray got enough control of himself to call out helpful instructions. A tug here, a readjustment of the belt there, and Guybrush began to look a little more noble and a little less comical.

"I don't think Grecians wear earrings," the skull hinted. Guybrush looked rebellious but gave in and removed the small gold ring from his left ear. "And that ponytail has got to go."

"I'm _not_ cutting off my ponytail," came the adamant reply. 

"Take it out, then." 

"Murray..you don't know what you're asking."

"Trust me on this. They're not going to take a kid in a ponytail seriously."

Guybrush gave a long-suffering sigh. "Okay...but you'll be sorry." He reached back and untied the small black cord binding up his long hair. It remained in place for a moment, then a gust of wind caught it and fluffed the entire mass into a yellow halo around his face. Murray fought to keep from laughing, whilst the mighty pirate simply looked much-abused. 

"Come on, then," he growled, taking the skull under his arm and walking, a skinny, barefoot, comic-figure with a yellow mane, through the heart of town, wondering if revenge was really worth it.    


* * *

Apparently the gatekeeper was more used to seeing men in outdated white robes carrying skulls, since he admitted them without a challenge. Guybrush threaded his way through several rows of hedges, stepping on the occasional thorn ("Ah, papapisshu!"), but finally he was able to set his sore feet down on the cool marble of the temple floor itself. He walked through a double-row colonnade of columns like a small forest of white trees, each casting a long shadow into the darker room within. They were several times taller than he was, and so large that he would never have been able to encircle them with his arms. He was beginning to feel very small indeed.

The temple's interior was a long, rectangular room, echoingly large and empty. It was encircled by more of the colossal columns on three sides, but the fourth was solid. More columns formed two long, open rows down a central aisle to the altar at the far end. They echoed back the unfamiliar rustle of his garments in sibilant whispers as he walked towards the fourth wall.

The exterior of the temple had been carved in beautiful bas reliefs wherever there was a flat surface, but inside there was no statuary at all except for the lovely goddess facing him in front of the fourth wall. She was proportioned so realistically that he was very close to her before he realized that she stood almost twice as tall as he did. She was posed with both hands held out before her, as though offering a gift to the worshiper, but she also wore armor and held a spear between her side and her right arm. A shield was leaning against her left leg. 

Her hands were the most interesting part about her, and not merely because they were exceptionally graceful and lovely hands. Resting on the ring finger of each was a blue gem, large enough even on those hands to look like fitting jewelry. Once again Guybrush was reminded of Elaine, and he swallowed hard. 

"Lovely.." Murray said softly. Guybrush wondered what appealed to a demonic, undead skull. Personally, he pondered who might have been the human model for this exceptionally striking statue.

"You like her? You come to worship her?"

The grating voice broke into his thoughts like a stone into water, scattering everything. But the man who had interrupted his musings was just as outstanding as Athena, in a different fashion. For one, he had an impressively long white beard, for two, he wore his toga cut very, very short.

"Herman Toothrot?" Guybrush could hardly believe his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Philosophy knows no bounds, my son. The wings of learning bore me here to enlighten new generations." 

He was trying to sound mysterious but was failing altogether. At the moment, though, he was familiar company. "I thought you were still teaching Eastern mysticism on Dinky Island."

"Naw. Left there when the water got too cold to surf." He showed yellow teeth in a brief grin. "And no one since you has been able to answer my coan."

_Huh_? "Oh..right...what color is the tree?"

"It's discouraging when no one gets enlightened." Herman's pale blue eyes seemed to be looking in two different directions at once, and they blinked so rarely that Guybrush's own eyes were beginning to water in sympathy. "Well, I'm going now."

"Wait!" He put a hand out to try to hold the old man back, but he was already gone.

"Strange character," commented Murray.

"You have _no_ idea.."

"The answer is 'all colors,' by the way."

"You've heard it before?" This was a side of the skull he'd never seen before.

"Once, yes. But here comes your friend again." Herman was indeed making his barelegged shuffle across the floor towards them.

"Herman, I need to borrow those two stones," Guybrush said before the man could get away again. A few other white-clad figures within earshot perked up.

The eccentric (not to say insane) philosopher looked at him with the closest expression to reason he had ever seen. "Do not mess with the sacred, my boy!" He shook a bony finger at them. "You can have them only when you replace kind with kind!"

"So what does that mean, exactly?" persisted Guybrush.

Herman continued to look serious. "Those stones have the power of the gods behind them. The people here worship them. If you can find them something else to worship, then you can have the stones."

Quite a small crowd was forming around them now--the familiar free-thinker confronting the kid with the skull--but no one stepped in on either side. They seemed to be waiting for the next shot in this verbal volley.

Perhaps a dozen thoughts flickered through Guybrush's mind at that point, but the only one that stuck was _I wonder how Murray would like being a god_. Without consulting his evil companion, he held him aloft like something holy and intoned grandly "Then behold Him. _Murray_. The emissary of Death himself!"

The emissary of Death himself currently had a completely blank and startled look on his face, but showmanship took over. "Yes! I come from the hellish blackness of Hades itself! I can read your souls. I know your futures! Come and serve me, and perhaps I will ask my Master to spare your lives for another year."

The expressions on the crowd before Guybrush were really quite amusing--some backed away, some sank to their knees, and a few turned gray and looked like they might be about to faint. But one or two looked skeptical, Herman among them. 

"There is nothing in your pitiful mortal world that I cannot answer," Murray declared. Being undead, Guybrush reflected, this was probably true. "Ask me anything!"

"If a tree falls in the woods--" began Toothrot.

"--all colors!" the skull finished.

Several of the younger students actually trembled when they saw their teacher stop and stare at the skull in wide-eyed respect. "What do you wish of us?" asked one timidly.

"I must have the place of honor in your temple," the skull began. "You must serve me and bring me whatever I desire." There were humble nods all around. "And you must grant to my servant whatever he asks of you."

And thus it was that, a few minutes later, Murray sat cradled in the hands of the Athena statue, holding court. The mighty pirate stood next to him, reverently holding the two sacred stones in his hands.

"'My _servant_'?" whispered Guybrush.

"Hey, it was the best I could come up with."

"Is all this power going to go to your head?" This was a point he hadn't considered before he made Murray a god. He was beginning to wish he had, now.

"Mwahahahaha." Strangely, however, that was reassuring--the skull had been behaving himself so well lately that he had almost lost his endearingly evil side.

"Well, don't take over the whole Caribbean,"Guybrush cautioned and took his leave of the newly-crowned emissary of Death. Halfway back to town, he realized that he was going to miss Murray's company.   


* * *

Holly almost literally fell off her chair when he re-appeared (back in proper piratey garb) with the blue stones. "That's...how...how did you do that?"

Ah, such an opportunity to tell a good story--and he didn't have time to do it justice. "I made a friend a god and they gave me the stones in exchange." Holly looked blank but finally just nodded and accepted it, while Chari's expression promised a lively conversation once they were safely alone aboard the ship. "Anyway, here they are. Is the mask finished?"

"I think so--the varnish was drying a few minutes ago." Chariset experimentally touched a small wooden object on the table before her; once she was satisfied that it was dry, she picked it up. It was a woman's face, half-black, half-light cream, with a stylized sun-circle in the center of her forehead and very red painted lips. Her eyes were outlined Egyptian fashion--black on the cream side, cream on the black side. 

"Is that how it's supposed to look?" queried Guybrush.

"The actual design doesn't matter, so long as it's painted," Holly informed him. "And so long as the stones are there, of course."

Guybrush turned over the two gems to Wally's sister, who set them into place with a jeweler's precision. She gave the mask an experimental shake to be sure they would stay, then handed the thing to him. "There ya go. Kick his zombie butt."

"We will," replied Chariset with feeling.

"Wait a minute...how does this mask work?" They really had no clue how to use the thing.

"Oh, right." Apparently Holly had forgotten to mention this. "Just look through the eyes at whatever you want to stone."

Chariset and Guybrush exchanged looks, then he raised the mask to his face and directed his gaze on a small plant near the door. Everything looked blue through the jewels, but there was a distinct sparkle around the thing. Holly and Chari gasped and he looked up at them quickly (remembering to take the mask off just in time). The plant was solid stone.

"It works!" he said unnecessarily, just as Holly said "Oh, thanks! That was my favorite plant!"

"Wait a second," put in his sister. She removed her heavy necklace--the Necromancer's amulet that had saved his life--and touched it to a stone leaf for a moment. There was a faint flicker and the plant was restored. "Good to know it can be reversed," she said quietly. "But let's not use it on any people unless we have to."

"Except LeChuck," he said, tucking it carefully into his sash."

"Except LeChuck," she agreed. "And thank you for all your help, Holly."

"Look, _you're_ okay, Chari. But don't think that just because I helped you, I like you, _Threepwood_." Apparently Guybrush wasn't worthy of a first name. "And if you ever come back here again, you better do it with my brother in tow," finished the red-haired girl darkly, turning her back on the both of them in a clear dismissal.   


* * *

"Whew!" said Chari once they were out of the shop and out of hearing. "Heaven..or Hell..help LeChuck if she ever decides to go after him personally."

"That's our job," he reminded her. "And speaking of that, it's time."

Chari, stout-hearted though she was, looked a bit nervous. But all she said was, "We've got a chance to get rid of evil. We'd be fools not to do it."

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes, a little." She sighed. "But I'm still going to do it."

"I think that's how we all feel about adventures. You'll get used to it eventually."

She shook her head, and he had the feeling that he'd missed the point, but she wouldn't say anything more. "What happened to Murray?"

That startled a chuckle out of him. "He's being worshiped as a god in New Athens," he told her.

Her eyes widened. "He never did do anything halfway, did he?"

"Heh...no."

"Well, in that case, let's call in the men and get out of here," she declared boldly, hands on hips.

Guybrush played along. "To LeChuck's fortress!" He gestured grandly.

"To Monkey Island!" Then she paused. "Guybrush...do we know how to get to Monkey Island?"

"I do. But you have to promise to come wake me up after we get there."

"What?!"

It would take far too long to explain. "You'll see. Right now we need to do some shopping. How much gunpowder d'you suppose we have?"

He rather enjoyed her puzzled silence as they headed for the nearest grocery store.


	6. Interlude 2

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The Mask of Medusa: Interlude Two

Preparations

* * *

Guybrush woke from a light nap on one of the Sea Cucumber's window seats just at sunset. Across the room, Chariset commented, "Ah, you're up. I was just about to come wake you."

The trip to Monkey Island had been accomplished the previous night without any real incident, though Chari had been rather understandably alarmed to find him unconcious on the floor in a kitchen filled with smoke. Now they hovered just out of sight, resting and preparing for their midnight invasion. The crew had been informed to hide the ship in a hidden cove on the far side of the island while he and his sister rowed over to the head of the island where that insidious carnival was still in full swing. But when they arrived, the ships were so closely packed into the docks that Chariset changed her mind and directed them to simply hide among all the others and stay low. 

He stood up and stretched, while she returned to her previous task of brushing out her hair. That accomplished, she pulled it back into a ponytail and bound the length of it with a long strip of green cloth, creating a short rope with a bushy brown end sticking out. The Necromancer's amulet lay on the dressing table at her elbow more like a favorite piece of jewelry than an item of incredible magic power. Her sword and a long boot knife lay on the bed along with a long red hooded cape and his own equipment. The atmosphere in the room was all quiet anticipation. 

Guybrush pulled on a pair of long boots that the Barbery Coast pirates had given him, slipping a second knife into one boot and hiding a third in his sash. He personally disliked carrying a sword around, and the narrow tunnels in the monkey head probably wouldn't let him use it properly anyway. Chari set the amulet carefully over her head as he picked up the gray cape from the bed and fastened it at his throat. She slipped hers on a second later, and between the amulet and the red cloth, she looked like a cross between the Voodoo Priestess and Little Red Riding Hood.

"Are you ready?" she asked unnecessarily. He nodded anyway, and they carefully locked up the Captain's cabin on their way out. Nic was waiting for them on the way out, and she gave him the heavy keyring. 

"Nic.." she began. "If....something happens...and we don't return, the ship is yours. Guybrush and I both agree."

He swallowed hard and nodded. "I'll go after Deadeyes m'self, Cap'n."

"I don't know if you'll ever be able to clear your names, and I apologize for that. When I come back, we'll set it all right," though Chari was trying to tie off all her loose ends now. "Until then, Godspeed, Captain Nicolas."

"Godspeed, Cap'n Threepwood," he replied.

Guybrush and Chari exchanged glances and she answered him with her eyes. _Yes_. _Let's do it_. Her crew lowered the rowboat and in silence they began their journey to the darkening shores of Monkey Island.    


* * *

The Zombie Pirate LeChuck sat at his ease in a golden throne etched with faces in pain, some skeletal, some human, some impossible to classify. A large, grinning mask of some bestial human glared down from the top of the throne's pointed back, though the interior was comfortably padded. He might be the walking undead, but he still preferred his creature comforts. 

Beside him, in a smaller but more elaborate throne whose back was mostly gold latticework sat his one and only, his lovely Elaine, grown only more lovely since she joined him in undeath. Her small hand in a delicate red glove was clasped in his own, and he occasionally brought it to his purple lips for a kiss. Her other hand wore his enchanted ring like a badge of honor. When she had become an immortal, it was the happiest day of her life, she'd said, and he knew it had been the happiest of his own endless existence. It _had_. He had everything he wanted and now there was nothing left to desire, no revenge to be taken, just endless centuries to come, growing in power, until the entire world was his. Big Whoop poured in more skeletal recruits every day, and more and more corrupt governors seemed willing to join in with him in return for keeping their little piece of power. And others, still others, were open to his powers of...persuasion. The most loyal, he would simply make immortal, like himself, and they would rule forever, while it was a ridiculously simple matter to permanently dispose of the rebellious. 

LeChuck smirked through his burning blue beard. It was so easy to deal with those who only wanted more power. They were easy to predict and easy to manage. Those who didn't want power, now, they were tricky. Like that Guybrush Threepwood...

He must have stiffened involuntarily, since Elaine gently stroked his hand with her thumb. He made himself relax, reminding himself that her love was always his, no matter what. But he couldn't quite shake off a faint sense of uneasiness, a feeling of dissatisfaction that had been with him for some time now. _What do ye do when ye've got all ya ever_....?

"Cap'n LeChuck!" A skeleton soldier came running into the throne room, out of breath. The immortal didn't need to breathe, of course, but it took a while to get used to that. LeChuck straightened up, angry at being disturbed, while caused the soldier to quail, but he never faltered. "Two strangers came sneaking up onto the island in haste, carrying weapons and moving through the jungle like they know the area. It looks like some kind of invasion, sir."

"Show me," growled the zombie at a small, oddly colored patch of the throne room wall. It came to life and displayed a dark jungle wherein two cloaked figures with their hoods drawn up to hide their faces stumbled through the trees. One was in gray and moved surely, while the second, in red and slightly shorter, was having more trouble. They paused at an incline and the taller one wordlessly pointed out the direction, but just for a moment they turned and their faces were visible. Elaine's eyes went wide and LeChuck heard her gasp as Guybrush himself looked directly at them with a steely-determined look on his face, while next to him a young woman blinked in surprise, then settled her delicate features into an even harder expression. They must have just caught sight of the Carnival, some part of his mind realized. 

They passed back into the jungle again, though not before the girl paused for an instant and seemed to look back at LeChuck. He felt a shiver that was part fear, part excitement, and part something entirely different, something he hadn't felt since...

He cut that thought off quickly. That pesky Threepwood must be brought inside and dealt with quickly. "Elaine, my love," he said to his bride. "An old friend of yours be comin' to pay ye a visit."

He never had to say anything more, because her eyes lit up with a lovely malice. "I'll take care of them, LeChuck."

"And that be what I love about ye, Elaine." He kissed her hand again. "Come back ta me soon...and bring them here alive."

Her smile boded ill for the two intruders as she slipped out the door. He relaxed into his chair..and thoughts...once more, as the mirror showed a trim figure in a brown cloak moving to intercept the two travellers. Yes...what a sweet reunion this was going to be.   


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	7. The Power of the Mask

The Mask of Medusa: Chapter Four

The Power of the Mask

* * *

  
The tree trunks crowded them like too-affectionate relatives as they hurried down the dark path. Ahead, Guybrush saw a glimmer of light--half a minute later, they burst out of the cover of the jungle and onto a dim beach. He came to a stop two steps out onto the pale sands and got his bearings--they were on the beach nearest to the Monkey Head. To their east, an unnatural glow brightened the sky, and thin strains of obnoxious, wailing music could be heard. 

Chariset had stopped when he did and was in the process of catching her breath when she froze in place and looked up sharply. He had learned to trust her instincts and turned--sure enough, there was motion at the far end of the beach, person-shaped. It was some figure in dark clothing, walking calmly towards them out of the jungle, making no attempt to hide. Something about the way it moved tugged at his memory. 

Beside him, Chari gasped. "Governor?" she cried in a voice of pure astonishment.

That was enough to merit a double-take from Guybrush. "Elaine?!" he called, hardly daring to hope...

The figure paused and looked up--the hood of her cloak lifted enough to betray a hint of gold earring and the familiar curve of one cheekbone. "Elaine!" 

With a whoop of pure joy, Guybrush ran across the beach, lifted her off her feet, and swung her around in a wide circle, airborne. Then he caught her up in a fierce enough hug that she made a muffled sound of protest--he released her but cupped both his hands around hers. She was frozen in shock..or was it something else? Her hands were ice-cold in his, and she wouldn't raise her head to look at him. "Elaine..what's happened to you?"

Her head sank even lower. "No...don't look at me." She sank to her knees, face in hands, and began sobbing brokenly. "I'm a monster. A _monster_."

_Now_ he understood the strange coldness of her hands. "Oh no..." He knelt beside her and put his hands on her shoulders--she twisted and pressed her face into his shirt, still crying. Her body was cold, freezing cold; he could feel it leaching the warmth from his own skin, but he refused to let her go. His Elaine..a zombie. "Let me see your face."

She shook her head, voice muffled in his shirt. "It..it's best that you don't, Guybrush. I don't want ye to see what he's done to me." She would have pulled away, but he held her tight. 

"Elaine, I will always think you're beautiful, no matter what you look like now," he whispered firmly in her ear. "And LeChuck will pay for what he's done to you." Despite himself, this emerged as a near-growl, and she raised her face enough to look at him, startled. "How?"

"We've gathered together enough magic to challenge him--and destroy him for good. You'll be alive again by morning."

Chariset approached them on light feet, a moonbeam brushing the necklace at her throat. "We can do it now, Guybrush." Her hand reached for the central stone. 

"No!" Guybrush and Chari both glanced at Elaine, startled. "I..I mean, there's no need for that now," she hastily added. "You need ta save that for LeChuck. Once he's gone, then we can worry about me." She pulled away again--he released her and she straightened up into the proud, self-confident leader that he knew and loved. _Brave Elaine_, he thought proudly, _putting everyone else before yourself_. He did wonder a bit at her strange behavior, but it was probably nothing to worry about--surely once he knew her reasons, he'd understand it. For now, he felt only a comforting sense of being on the right track as she guided them both up a small trail to the secret entrance to LeChuck's lair. Chariset trailed behind, a faint frown on her face, but he had no time to wonder what was bothering her.

"In here..." Elaine ducked into a patch of trees which proved to surround a small clearing. Typical of most Caribbean copses, it was much larger inside than it looked, though there was nothing in it but a large boulder. Her head explored a tree trunk--she pulled on a small branch and the entire rock slid sideways, revealing a stairway down into the island. Dim amber light glinted up from below.

She preceded them down inside, waiting at the bottom for Guybrush and Chari to enter. The stairs themselves were hard to see and somewhat steep, but once inside--

The light! Even in the small tunnel below the stairs, it was impossible to feel claustrophobic because the walls, floor, and ceiling literally glowed. On closer inspection, it was easy to see why--they were composed of large crystals, clear as glass, but actually made of unmelting ice. They were also incredibly sharp, he discovered, touching one edge and pulling back sharply with a wounded finger. But they caught up light from some distance source and reflected it back with their many facets, so that every surface glowed gold. It was impossible to feel afraid in such lovely circumstances.

Elaine saw him staring and chuckled--for a moment, he saw a glint of her blue eyes, picking up some red tinge from the light, as she gestured with her head. "Follow me." 

The golden light only brightened as they walked, but the sharp floor was making walking treacherous. The edges caught on his boot heels or sliced into the soles--he was glad the Barbery trio had insisted he take a pair of boots along. His lighter street shoes would never have lasted in this tunnel. Elaine glided on before them with carefree steps, but he and Chari picked their way along with some trepidation, afraid of a nasty fall on the crystals.

The tunnel led directly forward, and they followed it deeper into the heart of the island, ignoring the several other routes that branched out from this main thoroughfare. Sometimes scuffling or muffled cries came from an offshoot tunnel, making them both pause, but Elaine never hesitated. Apparently this was common enough that it no longer alarmed her, though that itself alarmed _him_. What had she known in LeChuck's domain? 

Eventually they reached a large intersection where half a dozen tunnels converged at once. More scuffling noises echoed off the walls, intermixed with loud thuds and scraping, though with the odd acoustics of the place, it was impossible to tell   
where they were coming from. Elaine debated for a second, then chose the second of the two branches directly ahead of them.

"Keeping up all right back there, Chariset?" he called over his shoulder. There was no answer. "Chari?"

He turned--and his blood froze. The tunnel was empty behind him. "_Chari_!"

A hand laid itself on his arm. "They've taken her to LeChuck," Elaine said, resignation in her voice. "When we find him, we'll find her." With sadness in her face, she suggested that they move on. 

Guybrush stood still, torn between turning back to search for his sister or going on to deal with the man who had abducted her, but in the end, he reluctantly abandoned Chari to her uncertain fate and walked on. Side by side with Elaine, further into the molten glow of a million ice crystals, he walked on, though pangs of uncertainty tore at him. _If this isn't Hell_, he thought, _it's close enough_. 

* * *

Chariset slowly raised her aching head and coerced her eyes into focusing. She instantly regretted that, because the first image in her line of sight was the pock-marked face of Horace Deadeyes. "Mornin', _Captain_."

"Oh, it's just you.." Despite the situation, she almost felt like laughing. Here she was, alone underground on a strange island filled with undead pirates, walking skeletons, and a source of some unknown yet horribly powerful magic, prepared to fight to the death--and here was a disgruntled crewmember out to arrest her. Oh no. Anything but that. "Look, I'm really busy right now...do you think you could do this some other time."

A sharp jerk on her wrists, which were sporting heavy iron bracelets, indicated that she should take him more seriously. But Horace himself remained silent, obviously considering how best to verbally intimidate her. Chari took the moment to examine her surroundings. 

She was surrounded (and confined) by a crew of men in an odd room, more like a natural cave, complete with sharp stone teeth extending down from the ceiling and more stretching up from the floor. It was also filled with more of the glowing crystals, though now she could see the source of their light. A thick river of molten rock sluggishly oozed past, bubbling against the ice banks. They yielded to the incredibly hot magma, albeit slowly.

Her wrists were manacled together, though in front of her body instead of behind--and one of the cuffs was a little loose. Obviously not too many prisoners with narrow hands passed through here--with a few careful pulls, she was certain she could free at least one hand. She fiddled with the cuff as Horace warmed up to his speech. "Ye're in serious trouble, young lady," he reprimanded. "We got direct orders ta take ye back to our General right away."

He'd put some effort into his threats, she'd give him that--Horace never was very good with words. Too bad it would never have its desired effect. "Believe me on this," she said slowly and clearly, "your General would have to be the Zombie Pirate LeChuck himself for me to take him seriously right now."

"Ahh....what a co-incydence," said a deep baritone voice behind her. 

It was the verbal equivalent of a splash of cold water down the back of the neck. Horace, studying her face, chuckled with evil satisfaction at her expression, but she couldn't have cared less about him just then. Slowly and apprehensively, she turned around--to meet the gaze of the Zombie Pirate LeChuck, her inherited arch-enemy. 

Her first reaction wasn't so much fear as a gut-level revulsion. He stood tall enough and broad enough to intimidate, that was certain, but his skin was a mottled gray-white, the color of frozen yet rotting meat. His lips were mottled purple, surrounding jagged yellow teeth as he smiled and bowed ironically to her. When he took one of her bound hands in his and pressed those gelid lips to it, she shivered with disgust, every fiber recoiling from his touch. She could even smell him now, the scent of cold meat, dank and horrible. He made dead bodies look healthy.

Most disturbing of all, his eyes were ravenous blue-white flame. They reflected a soul that was more than a beast's, but far, far less than human. The owner of those eyes would devour her in a heartbeat with the unconcern of a man crushing a bug, or worse. They regarded her hungrily and this, more than his horrible appearance, overwhelmed her spirit and made her want to sink back to Deadeyes and huddle behind him rather than face this flame-bearded apparition any longer. His hands crept over hers, large enough to envelop her arms halfway to her elbows, and she fought to pull away--but he held fast. They were cold, so numbingly cold, and she wanted nothing more than to get away from them.

But something in her would not yield, refused to submit to this monster of a man. Her numbed fingers curled into claws, then fists, and she raised her chin and met that inhuman gaze without flinching. He crowded even closer, but she stiffened her spine and would not be moved. An icy blast ruffled her hair as he snorted.

No introductions were made--there seemed to be no need. "Yer brother and my sweet Elaine should be along shortly," he informed her. A more conversational tone could scarcely be imagined, though it was at direct odds with the hungry gleam in his eyes. "In the meantime, why don't we get to _know_ one another?" 

She sensed his intentions a second before he moved, but his hands pulled her to him and his lips fastened themselves on hers too quickly to resist. His presence overwhelmed her senses--it was like being embraced by a leech, a monstrous parasite who would steal every ounce of life in her body and leave her an empty husk. She fought, but the horrible, numbing cold was already spreading over her body, over arms, shoulders, face, suspending her will, making it difficult to think. A hand was at her vulnerable neck--the other greedily explored her back, spreading cold with it. She could not even cry out--he smothered her protests with his dank lips. Her vision blurred and for a moment she was certain she was going to faint--and welcomed the coming blackness, welcomed any retreat from this unbearable kiss.

Then whatever had sustained her before woke up--and her fear and revulsion turned to anger in a heartbeat. In one violent motion she twisted out of his embrace, slipped her hand free from the iron cuff, and struck him a two-handed blow with the dangling thing. All of her strength was behind that blow, and it actually knocked him off balance. Burning with rage, she advanced on him, driving him back with more attacks, keeping him confused. Outraged shouts came from behind her, but there was no way any of Deadeyes' men would be able to save their General. The tables were turned--the disheveled and chained prisoner was in charge and the massive guard under her control.

"Murderer," she growled in a voice so distorted she scarcely recognized it. "You've meddled with innocents for the last time." She hooked her free hand in the Amulet's cord, even as he tripped over a clump of crystals and fell helplessly on his back before her. "This is for my brother," she screamed, and lunged at him--

--and something came down hard on her skull. Her last sight was Horace's triumphant face, holding a large chunk of stone, as she toppled into darkness and even more overwhelming disappointment. So close..

* * *

The doorway glowed with yellow fire so brightly that it was almost blinding--Guybrush squinted against the light as he ducked through after Elaine's back. The crystal-covered room inside was scarcely less bright, but now he could see why--they had reached the lake of lava in the center of the Monkey Head. In fact, off in the distance the actual Mouth was visible, through which cars of doomed pirates plunged into the molten rock. Their screams echoed off the uneven ceiling. 

"Elaine, where--?"

The sound of the massive door locking shut behind him was the closing of a tomb. He whirled--their only exit was bolted closed and guarded by several dozen skeleton pirates. Grinning, they ringed him in a wide circle, bristling with weapons. He braced himself to fight, one hand at the concealed knife in his sash--the only thing between all those men and his wife.

But Elaine didn't look the least bit worried. In fact, she was even smiling. "You always were a fool, Guybrush," she said pleasantly, and pushed back her hood. Flame-hair blazed up, while her expression held nothing but amused contempt. She tossed off her cloak in a dramatic motion and he found himself face to face with the wife of LeChuck--not the unwilling prisoner, but the full and eager partner, eyes bright with malice. She had handed him over to her husband without a second thought.

His own thoughts were paralyzed. "Elaine..how? How could you do this?"

She snorted, "You were never my true love." Her eyes were pitiless. "Pathetic idiot...do ye think I actually loved you? Did ye think I actually _cared_ for you?" She laughed--it tore into his soul like a flint knife. "Ye were never even my equal--how could I ever have loved you?" 

She was hard, cold, carelessly cruel as she continued to attack him, and Guybrush could only back away before this blinding attack, mind reeling. Every word hurt more deeply than LeChuck could ever have managed, and the evident pleasure she took from his pain was even worse. But eventually even this seemed to grow old for her, and she stepped in for the death-blow.

"I might've loved ye once," she whispered, taking his face into her firm grip, "but I've seen the error of me ways. Now I see that ye could never've given me what I really needed." She leaned forward and planted a burning kiss on his forehead, then shoved him away. 

"So farewell, my pathetic mortal husband. Don't feel bad just because ye couldn't measure up to a _real_ man."

Guybrush sank to his knees, landing among the ice crystals. They cut, but he scarcely felt the pain. 

* * *

She left her victim staring sightlessly at the floor and approached the side of the river--an island was blooming in its center, formed of ice crystals. It rose on a thick column of ice until it stood three or four feet above the surface, forming an impromptu stage. On it stood the players--her LeChuck, his new right-hand man Deadeyes, and, next to them, a circle of men. These parted, revealing a prisoner in their midst--Guybrush's sister Chariset, looking oddly vulnerable without her cape or jacket. She hung limply in their grasp, but when LeChuck approached, she raised her head. Her gaze was tired and bleary but direct--even at this distance she was clearly unintimidated. Elaine, having dealt with Guybrush, now waited to see how her husband would deal with his sister.

Another roller car rocketed down the tracks, but this one slowed to a halt before it touched the surface of the lava. In it was a group of six men--sailors, not pirates--white-faced with fear. At the sight of them, Chariset stiffened and turned pleading eyes to LeChuck--he smirked and held his ground. She was a Captain--no doubt those six were her crew. _How foolish_, Elaine mused, _to care so deeply for something mortal. It'll only die, and then where will ye be?_ Devastated, like this fool on the floor, here. He had made himself vulnerable by loving her; his vulnerability was a weakness and she despised weakness. How could he assume that she'd never leave him? There was only one man who would never leave--and that man was LeChuck. 

Why, then, did she feel that twinge of guilt? Those voices in her head had fallen silent long ago, so it couldn't have been from them. She shook it off and turned her attention back to LeChuck. This was her favorite part of the breaking ritual--the impossible choice.

"I give ye a choice, lass. Either ye watch yer crew pass through Big Whoop and join me in undeath....or ye marry me."

_She was betrayed_--face pale, she stood frozen, eyes fixed on her love, her LeChuck. How could he--how had--? She was undone--she had cast everything in with him, all her bridges were burned. _Oh, Guybrush_... whispered the voice in her heart. _Now I understand_...._what have I done_?

Two tears, real tears, slowly fell from eyes that had all but forgotten how to cry; she curled around herself and sobbed bitterly.

* * *

"Well, lass?"

Chariset could clearly see the faces of her men--some terrified, some almost senseless. Nic alone met her eyes, but his calm gaze seemed to accuse her of betrayal before the entire world. How could she have their deaths on her soul? But then how could she spend all eternity with this monster? She shook her head. "I can't--"

The dropping of LeChuck's arm was the fall of a guillotine, sudden and irrevocable. The car fell into the lava with merciful quickness, but she still heard the screams of her men as they plunged to their deaths. She covered her ears, closed her eyes, but the scene was burned into her memory--when she reluctantly looked up again, the car sat on the other side of the lake, peopled with living skeletons. Their bone faces were blank, revealing very little of the men they had once been. But she felt like her own bones must be showing under the waves of guilt that scoured her--_maybe you came prepared to die, but they didn't_, she thought bitterly. _You didn't need to drag them down with you_. 

LeChuck left her little time for regret. He gathered a fistful of the silk of her shirt and drew her in close. "Now..answer me. Either ye take me as yer husband, or ye goes in after 'em." 

Suddenly, this all seemed too ludicrous to be real. "You're _still_ asking me to marry you?" she choked out. "Why would I? You've killed or tortured everyone I've ever cared for--what feelings could I _possibly_ have for you?"

That earned her a cold glare, but she matched him eye-for-eye and did not back away. Eventually he shoved her back into the grasp of Deadeyes and a cohort with a frustrated sound. "I used ta think marriage was fer love," he admitted at last. "When Elaine was mine at last, I made sure that she would love me--but that never seemed ta make things easier. No matter how much she loved me, it only got in the way of what I was really wantin'." He had been looking inward, but now he refocused on her. "I'm not givin' ye a choice because I want yer _love_. I'm just givin' ye the chance to make it easier on yerself." Now he leaned back in, making no attempt to hide the hunger in his eyes. "I'll have ye undead or alive, Threepwood, willing or unwilling. Ye know that."

"I know that," she agreed, marveling at her utter lack of fear. "But even if you force me to marry you, I'll never be what you're really wanting. I'll never love you for yourself. _You_ know that." Her voice was without hatred, or even anger, as she faced her worst enemy, "I can't marry you. That's my answer."

Just for an instant, she saw a flicker of real, human emotion in his undead eyes--some trace of the man he had once been. But then Deadeyes yanked her sharply back by her dangling manacle cuff and the moment was broken. "Then prepare ta die, 'Captain.'"

LeChuck made another heavy gesture, and two men pinned her arms behind her back over the molten pool of lava. She looked up only once--there was her brother Guybrush, on his knees across the river--but he was reaching carefully into his sash where the Mask was hidden. The skeleton pirates around him hadn't appeared to notice what he was doing; if she could just buy him a moment or two, there was still hope for their mission. 

Horace, ironically, was her ally in this. He leaned over to look in her face, no doubt gloating over her defeat. 

"So this is how it ends, eh, _Captain_?" As before, he twisted the word into a mocking insult. "Ye're going to die, just like all the rest of us, for nothin'." 

Chariset felt her mouth stretch into an ironic half-smile. "You're right, Horace," she answered. "I'm going to die. But if I die..." she reached a foot back and hooked it behind his ankle.. "then you're coming with me." In one motion she jerked her foot, leaped out of the grip of her startled guards, and screamed, "_Now, Guybrush_!"

Horace lost his balance and fell over the edge, screaming hoarsely. Chariset hovered in mid-air, suspended over the boiling rock of Big Whoop for a small eternity, watching his slow-motion flailings. She would never fall in--she had mastered flight. 

Then Guybrush cried her name in sheer anguish--the Mask of Medusa dropped from his hands just as skeletal backs closed around him and blocked her from her view. Her last image of the world she knew was Elaine's face, pinched and hopeless, as soldiers hauled Guybrush to his feet. Horace was right--she would die for nothing. Her long fight was ended too soon.

She closed her eyes and knew nothing but utter despair, even when the heat and pain enveloped her, despair until the nothingness swept it all away.

* * *

If this ice-island was a stage, this was the final act. Guybrush stood in the center of a ring of skeletons, facing LeChuck and a white-faced Elaine. She was leaning heavily on LeChuck's arm, desperately seeking some reassurance--he had a hand around her waist but only half of his attention was on her. In his other hand was the object that would have destroyed him--the Mask of Medusa. And once again he was verbally dancing the evil villain dance of triumph, hoping for some reaction from his prey. 

Guybrush, no doubt, was bitterly disappointing him. He felt almost nothing in this final moment--his system was so spent that fear was utterly beyond him. He knew he was going to die, and he didn't care. 

"There's nothing left for you to take from me, LeChuck," he finally said tiredly. "I don't even care what you do to me anymore, just do it quickly and get it over with."

LeChuck snorted with what did indeed sound like frustration, but all he did was turn the Mask over in his hands. "This be a very interestin' toy ye brought me, Threepwood. The famous Mask of Myth Island--I never thought ye'd be foolish enough to come against me with this." He laughed, but it was too-loud, a man laughing at a joke that no one else finds funny. "How ironic...ta kill ya with the very weapon you were goin' ta use against me." Here he paused, waiting for a response, but Guybrush remained silent, waiting for him to get to the point. Eventually he did--"How would ye like ta be a statue in my garden fer all eternity?" The Mask shifted in his undead grasp.

_I don't care_, was on the tip of Guybrush's tongue, but what he actually said was "Wait--"

LeChuck looked moderately curious. Ah, his enemy wanted something from him after all. "What?"

"Can I say a few last words to Elaine before I go?" he asked, the words bubbling up out of some deep corner of his heart (to the astonishment of the rest of him).

The other considered. "Ahhhh...why not? I'm somethin' of a romantic at heart." He stepped aside, leaving Guybrush and Elaine to face each other.

Guybrush hesitated, then pushed back the hood of his cloak so she could see his eyes, taking a cautious step forward. "Elaine...I know your heart," he began carefully. "You were my wife for six months, and those six months were the happiest of my entire life. I knew that you loved me then--I know that you must still love me now." He took another slow step. "But even if all that was a lie, I still love you. You will always be my wife to me, even if you love LeChuck now." They were very close now, so close that he could have taken her hand, though he made no move to. But she remained frozen with her eyes on the floor--he couldn't tell whether any of this was reaching her. "I love you more than I knew a man could love a woman," he finished. Now came the hard part. "And so I'm going to let you go. Farewell, my Elaine." He stepped back, swallowing hard, but what needed to be said was said. Now he could die.

"Good riddance, Threepwood," put in LeChuck, stepping between them abruptly, the Mask already halfway to his face. 

Time slowed once more--Guybrush, resigned to death, saw Elaine suddenly look up and her soul was clearly visible in her eyes. There was a battle going on there--the part of her that was Elaine wrestled something darker and more sinister. Simultaneously surges of white light roiled inside the jet-black stone of her wedding ring. 

The end was both quiet and dramatic. She closed her eyes just once, and when she looked up, she was Elaine again. But at the same time there was an explosion of white light above her left hand--shreds of black fell away from a pure white gem. It was the very stone he had fought so hard to get for her, the Blood Island diamond. And now he saw that all of her love for LeChuck had been just a black, artificial overlay over something that, deep down, was still pure--just like her diamond. 

But LeChuck had already brought the Mask to his face. The shattering of the spell had come too late--

"_No_!" Elaine leaped forward, desperately grabbing for LeChuck's arm--he whirled around, Mask still in place--

--and she was turned instantly into a stone statue. Her beautiful face was frozen forever into a mask of pure determination/despair, hands stretched out. The woman he loved had given her life to save him.

"_Elaine_!" cried LeChuck and Guybrush simultaneously. But the living pirate was the first to react--she had bought him one last chance. He lunged at LeChuck and wrestled the Mask from his hands, then set it to his own eyes and caught him in the deadly blue gaze. 

It was over in a heartbeat--now there was a stone tableau before him. A huge stone pirate turned in shock and grief to a tall woman who stretched out her arms to him. All around him, skeletons milled in confusion--he warned away the ones who were still collected enough to attack with the Mask. But this was almost an instinctive reaction--he was numb and cold inside. 

Somehow his shaking legs carried him to her side--his Elaine was lost and won and lost again...it hurt too badly to think about. Instead he cupped his hands around her face and looked into her stone eyes, wanting to cry and lacking the energy. In a state of exhausted numbness, he threw both arms around her neck and laid his head down on them, scarcely knowing how to feel.

And then, in that moment of his utter loss, _she_ came. She rose up out of the lava of the lake, hair loose on her back, and put her hands on his shoulders. "Surprise, Guybrush."

He caught Chariset up in his arms in a heartbeat, torn between laughing and crying, while she tried to stifle her squeak of protest. "You...you're alive? But how..?"

She shook her head, unsinged hair flying. "I don't know...but if I had to guess, I'd say it was the Amulet."

"The Amulet.." He fought down an unreasoned wave of hope. "Chari, I--"

She had already removed it from her neck--at his signal, she carefully placed it around his. Somehow this seemed like the right thing to do. Then he turned back to Elaine, breathed a quick prayer, and kissed her. 

Any other kiss would never have worked, but this kiss was the purity of love mingled with the unyielding drive that had made Guybrush what he was--it defied death, magic, and Hell itself to take Elaine away from him. The sheer power of it all made Chariset catch her breath--it was easily the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. 

And then, from the white stone of the Amulet, came a gentle glow, a color she had never seen. It was white and gold and somehow blue and silver and yet none of these. It spread over the two figures with slow majesty--over their faces, arms, hands. It flowed like fire over the area around them, touching everything with a borrowed beauty. Tendrils of it even brushed her, bringing some kind of healing with them. It was suddenly harder to remember what it had felt like to plunge into Big Whoop. 

The light might have remained for seconds or hours--she couldn't tell. But eventually it gathered itself back together, centered over the keystone of the Amulet, and vanished. And there stood Elaine, alive, turning the tables on her loving husband with a passion to match his. One hand, his, was touching her hair--real hair, not flame--as though it couldn't believe what it found, while she was holding him as tightly as though she meant to make up for weeks of separation in one embrace. Nothing could ever come between them again.

The kiss came to its conclusion as simply and naturally as falling rain. She tucked her head under his and he drew her even closer. "Elaine.." he said softly, a wealth of feeling in those two syllables. "Guybrush.." she answered. It was all that needed to be said.

By some unspoken agreement, they both turned, then, and offered their arms to Chariset. She stepped into their embrace and held them both tightly, even as they both held her. A tear rolled down her face, but her joy was mostly too great to properly express..too great for her even to understand. There just were no words for such a feeling as this. They had done it--despite all the odds and magic against them, they had won. She rolled the words in her mind again, enjoying the feel of them. They had surmounted. They had--

--a heavy blow struck her aside. She was thrown to the sharp floor, rolled, feeling the bite of the crystal edges. Dozens of skeletons appeared around her--Chariset struggled to get to her feet. Somewhere beyond her, Elaine cried out. _What happened?_ screamed her mind as half a dozen undead soldiers jumped on top of her.

* * *

Guybrush had no hint of danger until he felt Elaine and Chari roughly torn from his grasp. He spun around, but even as he turned, a crushing blow smashed him to the ground. He struggled up to his knees before another came down hard on his head, driving him down a second time into the unforgiving ice crystals. He landed with enough force to shatter them, leaving him face-down in the shards, head ringing. Blood welled up in numerous tiny cuts in his arms and legs--he tasted more in his mouth as he fought his way up to hands and knees. This time, the blow landed in his ribs, a distinct kick that sent him rolling among the vicious shards again--but then he finally saw his opponent. 

LeChuck. No longer a zombie, but rather an animate stone statue, with all the strength of stone and none of the feeling of a flesh-and-blood creature. Their supposed 'victory' over him had only served to give him a near-invincible body. Guybrush paled--the words of the Voodoo Priestess, spoken so long ago on Plunder Island, came unbidden to his mind, "His power seems to grow with every incarnation."

Despair gave him strength--he managed to get to his feet, though a sharp pain pierced through his side and nearly doubled him over. Arm pressed to his side, he drew his knife, determined to make a stand of it, but the blade snapped off against the pirate's stone body. Another heavy cuff put him on the floor again. 

This time, LeChuck gave him no chance to rise. He stood over his enemy, stone teeth bared, "So ye like ta play rough, do ye Threepwood?!" His voice boomed hollowly, like an echo, but his fist was unmistakably solid. Twice he slammed it down in a blow that would split Guybrush's skull if it connected--twice he was just barely able to avoid it. But then LeChuck seized both his arms, yanked him into the air, then caught him in a crushing, bone-breaking bear hug. One, two ribs snapped, lancing him with needles of white-hot agony--he screamed but blood rose in his throat and choked him off. He writhed in LeChuck's agonizing embrace, striking out blindly against the stone body, feeling his insides crushed to pulp, feeling his breath catch itself in his chest. LeChuck dropped him--he landed in a heap at his feet, fighting for air. He collapsed onto his side, blood trickling from one corner of his mouth--he coughed again and it splattered on the ground. Curled around the agonizing emptiness of his chest like a dying wasp, he lay helpless while LeChuck smirked down on him. He fought to speak but was unable to make a sound.

The statue slowly lifted a massive stone foot--just as slowly it came to rest on Guybrush's head. He knew it waited for the signal to crush the life out of his dying body, and some part of him even welcomed the coming oblivion--

--but he was a Threepwood, and there was another part of him that had never laid itself down to die. Even as the foot began to apply pressure, he fought back--"..wait.." His voice emerged as a harsh whisper. "There's...something I need...to tell you..."

The foot receded--LeChuck peered down at him, curiosity written on his stone features. Guybrush's hand began the impossibly long journey up to the Amulet at his neck. "Well?" 

"LeChuck, you.." a spasm of pain interrupted him just as he took hold of the central stone. "..you were right. Back there, on Dinky...Island, you said we were...brothers. I didn't....believe you then...but now I know...that you were right."

"Now wait...I didn't mean--"

Guybrush coughed and gasped, fighting instinctively for more air. "Not physically...brothers," he said when he could speak again. "But you're just..like me. I'm just like you. I see it now. We were both...pirates, both young men...wanting to find treasure. Both would have done..." another cough, more blood "..anything for Elaine." LeChuck had opened his eyes wide, and Guybrush weakly pressed his point, "We're brothers. We need...each other. You need me." His labored breathing required no acting. "Don't let it end this way, LeChuck. We should rule together...like brothers...for all eternity." 

Guybrush's eyes sought LeChuck's. "Pick me up...brother...throw me into Big   
Whoop...we'll never be alone again." 

His voice failed him then, but the stone pirate was swayed--he slowly knelt down and bent over Guybrush's body. And somehow, in those empty eyes, the dying pirate saw a hint of what he had once been, a soul very like his, only twisted by greed and power. He reached down to take Guybrush into his arms--

_Now_. _It must be now_. And with his last ounce of will, he snapped the center stone from his neck and pressed it firmly against LeChuck's chest. The surge of pain that racked him then half-blinded him and sent him falling helplessly back into the embrace of the crystals, but his arm had done its work. The stone, glowing with power, remained attached to the zombie's undead heart--by the time LeChuck realized the danger, it was already too late. The glow engulfed him as a spider overwhelms an insect--slowly yet rapidly it swallowed up his chest, his arms and legs, strangely and horribly leaving his face for last. A slow panic spread over it as LeChuck realized that he was dying.

"Aah...aaaaahh...AAaaAAAaaHH..." he screamed, prying at the thing with his glowing appendages, suffering as horribly as any of his victims had. His eyes were turned pleadingly to Guybrush--beseechingly he stretched out his hand.

To his lasting credit as a human being, Guybrush somehow found a way to respond, to reach out two trembling fingers towards his worst enemy and murderer, before the glow completely enveloped LeChuck. The scream cut off abruptly, then the glow itself drained away like water and vanished on the wind. Only a gray/brown, amorphous form remained, towering over him--for an instant he could see the human body it had once been; but then it, too, broke its unity and slid over him, chest and legs, reduced to nothing but harmless dust. His brother covered him in a blanket of earth.

And then Guybrush, his task completed, slowly let go. His hand and head sank to the ground, his eyes took in one more view of the world and fell closed for the last time. A quiet sigh passed through his frame, a breath that slipped painlessly away into the night. There was no more painful struggle to draw another--the long battle for life was ended. Guybrush Threepwood, mighty pirate, was dead. 


	8. The Power of the Amulet

The Mask of Medusa: Chapter Five

The Power of the Amulet

* * *

They brought him out of the mountain in the early morning and laid him out on the grass on a hillside. It was that still, gray time before sunrise, when the glow of false dawn has faded, but before the sun actually rises--it suited her mood. Chariset held the remains of the Necromancer's Amulet in her hands--the cord was broken and the central stone was nothing but brown slag. Whatever power had destroyed LeChuck had completely melted the gemstone.    
She lowered herself down on the ground next to her brother, eyes on the Caribbean but not really seeing it. Elaine sat down across from her in unnatural silence, twisting her fingers idly. She didn't really feel anything, either, but when she did give way to the wave of emotions, it might break her in two. Chariset wanted nothing more than to be alone, but she dared not leave Elaine...and perhaps she herself might do something desperate if no one was there to see her.    
The six skeletons who had come out with them formed an uneven circle around the inner three, shifting uncomfortably on their bone feet. Neither of the two women moved. Chariset blinked once or twice, holding back a tear, but she had fled deep into her inner world of thought. Ah, Guybrush....you had to be the hero, didn't you? You had to deal with LeChuck personally, didn't you? What possessed you to take on the undead? You had no hope of actually winning. She blinked again. Well, fine..be dead. See if I care.    
This time the tear fell despite her best efforts. A sniff followed, and she gave in and laid her head on her drawn-in knees. I do care. Oh, I care. I'm going to miss you so terribly...    
If only... If only, if only, if only... If I'd just been a little faster... If only it had been me going into that whirlpool instead of you. If only LeChuck had known when to quit...then you'd still be alive. If only this were a story and everything would come out all right in the end. If only there was some way to take it all back! Oh, Guybrush...it wasn't supposed to end this way! If there was any justice at all in this world, you'd still be with us..    
She looked into his face and saw the peace there. Maybe, years, later, it would give her some comfort to remember that he died contented. Even if she couldn't imagine that now..    
A hand landed on her shoulder--she glanced up at what she thought was Nic and saw Elaine. "Chari...I'm.."    
Just that nickname alone was enough to set her off--she burst into tears. Elaine surprised her by taking her into her arms and holding her close. "Oh Elaine..he's gone. He's gone, and nothing's ever going to bring him back."    
"Shhh...ssshhhh...I know.." Long, long moments passed while the formerly reticent older woman stroked her   
hair and Chariset thoroughly soaked her silk shirt with tears. But eventually she made an effort to pull away, and Elaine let her go. They sat in awkward silence for a second, then a soft "E-excuse me? Mrs. Brush?" interrupted them. They both turned--a small, red-haired lad flinched away from Chariset's expression and nervously stared at the ground.    
"What is it, Wally?" Elaine asked gently but tiredly.    
"Well, ye see...I.." He seemed to catch sight of Guybrush for the first time. "Gaw...Mr. Brush." He looked up at them both, slightly shame-faced. "Naw..I'll come back some other time."    
"Wait a second...do you have a sister named Holly?" asked Chariset, some slow understanding dawning. She had a feeling this might be important.    
"Why, yes. How'd you know?"    
"We met..on Myth Island. She made a mask for us."    
"Oh, yeah..that's what I wanted ta show ya. I found this..." he reached under his little jacket and pulled out a splintered wooden thing. It was cracked and chipped, but unmistakably the remnants of the Mask of Medusa. "It looks like me sister's work."    
"Do you know what it is?"    
"Sure...it's that mask thingy the Greeks worship." Wally sounded offhanded about the whole thing.    
"And do you know what it does?" Chariset persisted.    
"Not really," the red-haired boy admitted.    
She took the thing into her hands and looked it over. Miraculously, those two blue eye-stones remained intact, though the entire face had been broken-in by a powerful blow. It had probably been destroyed when her brother...died. The eyes stared at her like the gaze of a Sphinx--full of words of wisdom but not telling anyone what they were. She felt drawn into their gaze--bluer than her own, clear as ice, unblinking as the great Eye of the Caribbean Sea itself. And something in her mind made an intuitive connection.    
Elaine and Wally both startled as she jerked up sharply, fingers already prying at the melted stub of glass in the Amulet's teardrop. In the end, she beat it out with the pommel of her knife, pried one of the eye-stones out of its setting, and wedged it into place. It was a perfect fit, as she'd known it would be.    
The red-haired woman suddenly understood what she meant to do. "Do you think..?" Her tone was naked hope, vulnerably so--if this didn't work, it would hurt her and badly.    
"I hope so," she said honestly, threading a broken end of the cord through the top of the teardrop and knotting the two ends. She was trembling as she set it over her head, trying not to hope for anything but afraid of failure at the same time. It rested just below her collarbone--she grasped it in her hand and willed it into life.    
It exploded into a burst of blue flame--fire that centered on the ember of the stone but spread painlessly over her hands and arms. She held her fingers up before her face, fascinated by the tiny fires that burned over them--warm but not scorching. Wally gasped, but Elaine leaned forward with an eager expression. Of course, said some rational corner of her mind, she's seen magic before.    
Suddenly it seemed right to clasp her left hand with Elaine's right--the flames spread between them without the slightest hint of dying down. Then she reached out and placed her hand over her brother's, which lay folded over his breast. She and Elaine moved simultaneously, completing a circle of blue flame. The fire engulfed them completely at this point--she should have been afraid of being consumed, but she felt no fear.    
Something balked the flame, even though it spread over all three of them. Somehow, their combined strength wasn't enough to overcome the other force, which seemed to personify itself as Cold. Pain and Brokeness vanished away, but the Cold persisted. It beat back their blue flames--they tightened their grip and fought harder.    
A small hand landed atop theirs--Wally had overcome his fear and joined them. One by one, all the others joined as well, surrounding themselves with columns of blue fire. Under their combined attack, Cold receded, but did not yield.    
Chariset closed her eyes--and suddenly she saw more people coming in to join them from all directions, though no one was physically there. The Voodoo Priestess was first, then the Necromancer, Holly, Murray (he took their hands in his jaws), Haggis and the rest of the Barbery trio, and a whole host of people she didn't know. Three scruffy-looking men in pirate garb, a kind-looking skeletal woman and another skeleton who was her groom, a broad-faced man in a fine suit, a strong-jawed man in a loud plaid coat, another pirate with a conspicuously light beard, yet another man with fiery-red hair who resembled Elaine too much to be anything but a relative, a brown-skinned islander in a large mask shaped like a lemon, and even, fleetingly, a monkey who appeared to have three heads. Each added a little bit of strength to the battle--each forced the Cold back a little farther.    
Then, strangest of all, a tall man in a pirate coat walked up out of the darkness behind her eyes--he was vaguely familiar, though she could scarcely say why. Then he looked up, and she caught her breath--it was Chuck. No longer LeChuck, no longer a zombie, but a human being with real feelings. He gazed down at them for long moments, expression unreadable, then he reached out and touched his hands to theirs. The Cold knew its master--it ran to him, departing its former home, and curled up in his hands.    
Chuck looked at her, and her skin prickled. His eyes were filled with an expression indescribable....it was regret and yet it was not quite sadness. A single tear appeared in his black eyes, glinting in the blue light, but then he turned and vanished like a sigh of wind. All the other spirits, or shades, or whatever they were, swirled away with him, leaving her alone in her mind.    
"Chari...look!" She opened her eyes on the sun rising over the Caribbean--it played cruel tricks on her. For a moment, it appeared that the cold pallor over Guybrush's face had been replaced by a healthy color.    
But if that was a trick of the light, so was the slight rise and fall of his chest; so was the noisy breath he took; so was the slow fluttering of his eyelids as he struggled to open them. To her absolutely incredulous joy, he cracked an eyelid, winced away from the sun, shook his head slightly and opened both eyes. She quickly moved to shade his face from the light.    
He was blinking as though waking up from deep sleep. "Chari..Elaine..where am I? Where's LeChuck?"    
"Guybrush...don't you remember?" asked Elaine.    
"I remember...LeChuck was a statue, and I--" He tried to sit up but winced at some pain in his side. Whatever healing the Amulet had done, apparently it did not extend to bones.    
Elaine pressed him back down with both hands. "You destroyed him...but you were hurt. We brought you out here after the battle," she explained. "Do you remember any of that?"    
He shook his head helplessly. "But I had the strangest dream... I dreamed I was dead--"    
His tone was disbelieving and Chariset and Elaine exchanged quick glances-- "but you two and LeChuck saved me. Isn't that funny?"    
Elaine and her brown-haired accomplice chuckled weakly and left it at that.    


Two hours later found them in the Captain's cabin, surrounding or sitting on the bed. Guybrush was actually in the bed, sides strapped up with white bandages. A doctor on the island had confirmed three ribs broken, had bound them up and ordered him to stay quiet for three or four weeks...at the least. His wife and sister had emphatically agreed, much to his disgruntlement. This broken-bone business was surely going to crimp his piratey style. 

Chari had fallen asleep on the window seat almost immediately, though she had insisted that he wear the Amulet for the time being. The six crewmembers were outside on the deck cavorting in pure joy--somehow they had been restored to human beings and were celebrating their flesh and blood in wild acrobatics. Among them were a handful of LeChuck's former men. One had gone so far as to dive off the side of the ship with a fellow crewman in tow, resulting in a noisy splashing contest that he could observe through a cabin window.    
Elaine was next to him, sitting on the bed, hand clasped in his. "Elaine.." he began, "I was dead, wasn't I?"    
She averted her eyes but eventually answered him. "Yes, Guybrush."    
"But you brought me back, somehow. You, and Chari, and everyone I knew--you brought me back. How?"    
"We were desperate enough to do anything, Guybrush," she answered simply.    
"You didn't..you aren't--"    
She chuckled. "No, we're not undead. There won't be any more undead pirates out of Monkey Island--not ever." His expression prompted another chuckle. "Big Whoop is closed for good. Not long after we took ye out, the lava started ta harden up--now there's tons of rock over it." She glanced over at Chari. "I think it happened when yer sister went in wearing the Amulet."    
"I still don't see how she could have survived..."    
Elaine shook her head. "We'll never understand that Amulet--but it heals and it reverses magic. That's the only thing I can think of that could've saved her."    
He nodded, feeling his eyes growing heavy. It was getting harder to follow the conversation.    
"Ye should get some sleep. When do ye want to get remarried?"    
That woke him up. "What?"    
She grimaced. "Sorry..but the vows say "'Til death us do part.' And we've both been dead, Guybrush."    
"Back on Plunder Island..." he yawned despite his best efforts. He tried to kiss her hand but she pulled out of his grasp. "Hey! Aren't you staying?"    
"No no no no....not until we're remarried. I think I'll sleep in one of the guest cabins for the next few weeks," she said mischievously and departed out the door before he could come up with a suitable reply. Irritating woman, he thought muzzily. Ah, well...with these ribs, it'd be a while before he felt up to...anything. These next few weeks are going to pass very slowly...    
  
Chariset and Elaine raided the armory the next afternoon and armed their little band of nine--then they prospected the tunnels of Monkey Island. Most of the skeletal pirates they encountered were willing to be restored to normal and a touch of the Amulet created crowds of human beings, usually jubilant human beings who would have followed their savior to their deaths. But sometimes they met pirates who truly had followed LeChuck out of loyalty and had enjoyed serving him--these were usually destroyed at the touch of the Amulet or died under their swords when made human. It was hard work, emotionally and physically--they both returned to the Sea Cucumber day after day feeling disheartened and drained.   
Guybrush did what he could to comfort them both, but he was feeling emotional strain himself. The sooner this business of clearing the island was finished, the happier everyone would be.    
Sometimes, Chariset would stay at the ship for a few hours and try to heal his broken ribs--the progress was almost imperceptible, but it was there. By the end of two weeks, he could breathe, cough, even laugh without that telltale stab of pain, though he still was not allowed out of bed. He became a great friend of the monkeys Chari and Elaine had discovered imprisoned under the island, and they came to visit every day, sometimes for hours at a time. He taught them the occasional trick, with bananas as a ready reward--Nic joked once that they were smart enough to learn how to sail. He looked a bit startled at the odd look Guybrush gave him for that.    
They saw nothing of Horace Deadeyes, which worried his sister--that is, nothing until their very last day on the island. Guybrush made his sad farewell to his monkey friends, who gave him bananas for going-away presents. His over-protective women (who would skewer him if they ever heard him call them that) had finally let him get out of bed, and so he stood at the railing and watched the preparations to leave. They were the only ship left at the docks since the Carnival had fallen apart--now even they cast off and drew away.    
And then they saw him--a warped little figure, clothes and hair burned black. He leaped up and down on the end of the dock, screaming half-audible threats.    
"Hey....ack here....I swear I'll....as long as you live, Chariset Threepwood! As long as you live!!" He continued to leap and scream as long as they were still in sight.    
"If he survived Big Whoop," mused Elaine, "that means he must be..."    
"..one of the undead," finished Guybrush. Chariset just sighed and shook her head. "Well, sis," he said brightly, "it looks like you're moving up in the world. You've got one of the undead for a bitter and life-long enemy. Congratulations!"    
If looks could kill..    
"Ah, well," she finally said with resignation. "At least it'll be a while before he'll be able to get off the island."    
Guybrush just grinned impishly. "You could always just move to Monkey Island--save yourself the trouble of coming back again and again."    
She changed the subject. "And speaking of unfinished business, isn't there something you were planning to do?"    
"Oh, right..." He paused, searching his pockets. "Now..I want to do it right this time...ah, there it is." He pulled something small out and held it in his hand. "Elaine, would--?"    
Chari leaned on the rail, arms folded. "Come on...on your knees. Be romantic."    
It was his turn to sigh. But he obligingly got down on one knee before Elaine, took her hand, looked up into her eyes, and said "Elaine, will you marry me? Again?"    
She put a finger to her lips and pretended to consider. "Wellllll..."    
"Hurry up..I can't stay down here much longer!"    
"Oh, I suppose.." said Elaine with a great show of reluctance. "Third time's the charm, right?" Chariset chuckled.    
It was a conspiracy. "Get your finger over here, woman," he 'growled.' With as much reverence as he could manage, he slipped the tiny band over her left ring finger, sending a little shimmer of light through the diamond. Perhaps it wasn't as magical as the stone of the Amulet, but it meant infinitely more to him.    
Elaine smiled at him as she helped him stand up. "It's good ta have ye back, Guybrush Threepwood. Even if--"    
He cut her off with a kiss.    
  
If this were a movie, the kiss would have blended seamlessly into a wedding scene without any mention of intervening time--but life seldom has the convenience of movie editing. It took over a week to find Plunder Island; once there, they encountered the Governor's guard. In the confusion, Chariset actually got arrested and Elaine and Guybrush worked all night to clear her name. She eventually had to plead guilty to a charge of killing Horace Deadeyes in self-defense--then all three of them told their stories to the judges about the end of LeChuck and the discovery that Horace was actually one of the undead. The five or six crewmen who had once been LeChuck's men supported their every word, while Chariset danced a little blue flame on a fingertip to confirm the Amulet story. But all of their reason might have been called into question were it not for a few unexpected visitors--the Necromancer and the Voodoo Priestess, who upheld their story. Wally, too, put in his own two bits, and eventually they won their case. Captain Chariset Threepwood and all the members of her crew were acquitted of the charges, and the men of the Monkey Island band were given full pardons.    
Just before the trial concluded, the senior judge drew her aside. "This was found two days ago in a bottle--I would not admit it as evidence, but I think you should see it." It was a crumpled letter accusing her of every atrocity known to man or woman, and signed "Horace Deadeyes."    
"You've got an angry enemy here, Captain Threepwood," he added. "And it would seem that he has an accomplice or two in the area. You might want to think about your options."    
She swallowed. "Thank you. I appreciate your help."    
"I don't believe any of this m'self, of course," he concluded, leaving the unspoken _but there are others who will_ hanging in the air as he walked away.    
Then followed another unsettling interview--this time in the wreck of the Magic Queen, consulting with the Voodoo Priestess. The Necromancer stood next to her, but neither revealed what their relationship to one another might be now. They insisted that she tell her entire story, and there must have been more Threepwood in her than she thought, because she told them everything. They were silent until she reached the point where they had used the Amulet to restore Guybrush to life, but then they seemed to pale and look nervously at one another.    
"What? What is it?" she asked in some concern.    
"It's just...the Amulet can't raise the dead," said the Necromancer. "I've tried it before--nothing happens at all."    
Chariset felt her blood freeze. Wasn't it the Amulet that.... "Then how--?"    
The Voodoo Priestess regarded her gently. "I think there may be more to you than you know. Would you consider becoming my apprentice when you come back?"    
"Wait....how did you know I was..."    
"Planning on leaving?" She shrugged, "It's the logical thing to do. Getting out of the area for about a year will give the rumors some time to die down--maybe even Deadeyes will eventually give up." Chariset snorted. That hardly seemed likely.    
"But take the Amulet with you," put in the Necromancer. "You may need it." His expression suggested that there was more to this gift than a simple premonition--it seemed that whatever blessing, or curse, on the Threepwood name that made all its members adventurers was still going strong. She had to fight down a sigh, though the idea of roaming free was not without its appeal.    
"Where will you go?" asked the priestess.    
"I hear there are some new English colonies north of here," she reflected, "someplace called America. Maybe I'll go up there."    
"That sounds like an excellent idea," murmured the priestess with eyes like the gems of Medusa's Mask, revealing nothing of their owner's real thoughts. Chariset took that as a good sign. 


	9. Epilogue

The Mask of Medusa: Epilogue

End of an Adventure

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this, Chari?"

"What...Myth Island or going away?"

"Both."

It was the afternoon of the wedding, and Guybrush and Chariset were having a last conversation on the docks of Plunder Island before he and Elaine sailed away for a brief second honeymoon on Blood Island. It would have to be a very short idyll for the two of them since devious forces were still at work, masterminded by some unknown individuals on Phatt Island, and they couldn't be gone too long without losing their authority. 

He looked very nice in a decent suit, she reflected. Hard to believe that she wouldn't see him again for a little over a year. "To Myth Island to deliver Wally back to his sister....and I think I should give the other blue stone back to the Greeks." She paused, "And as for me going away completely, you already know why I'm doing that. It's not safe for me to stay here anymore."

He looked glum--she chuckled at him. "I'll be back when Elaine's term of office is over, just like we'd thought about before all this happened. Then we can rout out whoever's behind this nonsense--if you two haven't already taken care of that."

Elaine came up at that moment, wearing a pure white dress and flowers in her hair. He helped her up the rope ladder to the Seahorse's deck (since she was a 'shiftless wanderer' now, Guybrush had insisted Chariset take his pirate vessel, the Sea Cucumber. Chariset didn't mind--they should have the nicer ship, after all), and then climbed up himself. A few stray grains of rice accidentally landed in her hair as the large crowd of well-wishers followed them onto the dock, waving and flinging handfuls of the white projectiles after them. Elaine flung her bouquet high into the air, landing it neatly in the hands of the Voodoo Priestess. The crowd whispered and smirked suggestively at her, though the priestess herself was casting the Necromancer a significant look. Guybrush looked a touch surprised, but his bride concealed a smile behind her hand. 

The Seahorse's crew was half reformed skeleton pirates and half members of Chariset's original six, and they wasted no time casting off and moving away from the docks. She stood at the end of the pier and waved at the departing ship until the Seahorse vanished around the sand-spit at the eastern end of the island and was lost from her sight.    


* * *

Her own crew wasted no time getting themselves together--the very next morning they caught the tide and were off to Myth Island. A simple "I have business with your god," accompanied by a fiery blue hand, was sufficient to admit her to the temple grounds, and from there it was a simple matter to enter the temple proper and greet Murray, the Emissary of Death Himself. 

He looked up at her with purest surprise. "It's you! I thought you were never coming back."

"Our business is done," she explained. "LeChuck is dead and gone, and we can return one of the sacred gemstones to their rightful owners."

"Oh," the skull muttered to himself. "I'm glad it worked out for you--well, glad in an evil sort of way--but what am I going to do with myself now?"

She grinned. "We're outlaws now..or at least on the run.. We could use someone with your evil expertise around."

He was silent, considering. "Come on..do you want to sit on a pillar for all eternity?" she coaxed.

"It's not that I don't _want_ to come.." he said at last. "I just don't want you to have to carry me around all the time."

"Maybe we wouldn't have to," she replied vaguely.

"What do you mean?"

Chariset hooked a finger in the Amulet's cord and held it out. "Would you like to be human again?" She gave him a contracted version of the vanquishing of LeChuck and his skeletal pirates, concluding with, "So...how about it? You could walk around freely and be your evil self again. I wouldn't even care much what you did afterwards, so long as you left my family alone."

"How do I know it'll give me my body back?" queried the skull suspiciously.

"You don't." She shrugged. "But at least you won't be a talking skull for all eternity."

He debated only very briefly. "Okay. I'll do it."

With careful reverence, she bent down and touched the teardrop to the top of Murray's cranium. 

The blue fires shot up. Murray the skull rolled onto the floor, bounced into the air once, twice, then exploded in a flesh-colored ball of arms and legs. He stretched out, reformed, and then--

"Good heavens.." said Chariset faintly, looking up at the man who stood before her. He was hugely muscled but well-formed, with a wild mane of black hair. His chin and forehead were the bold features of a romance novel's hero. 

He was also stark-naked. She blushed but managed to say, "_You're_ Murray?"

The man looked at her as if to say, 'What kind of dumb question is that?' "Murray? Of _course_ I'm not Murray," he replied in a booming voice. Then he seemed to fold in on himself--revealing a thinner man with sand-colored hair, a pointed chin, and a narrow nose. He cleared a thin throat and said in his reedy voice, "Hi..I'm Murray."

"_You're_ Murray?" was her inspired response. 

"Yes, I'm--" he cleared his throat again and spoke in a lower voice. "I'm Murray."

"But you don't sound anything like Murray!"

"Mwahahahahaha! I am _Murray_! The evil demonic skull!"

She blinked. He certainly did have the evil accents down. But as for himself, he looked a bit sheepish. "Sorry. I just get a kick out of saying that."

In fact, he looked as harmless as...as Guybrush. "If you really looked like _this_ all this time.." she began, indicating all of him with a flip of her hand, "why did you make us believe you were some kind of evil genius?"

He snorted. "Would _you_ be afraid of a skull who sounded this way?" His voice, though deep, was pleasant to listen to...she had to admit that it probably wouldn't inspire real fear.

"Now, since I happen to know that Nic sailed off with your brother..."

"How do you know that?"

Another snort. "Haven't you been reading the story?"

"Story?"

"Ah, never mind. The author has been pathetically slow about introducing a love-interest for you and, well, I'm here to fix that."

Chariset gave him an odd look. "Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" He nodded matter-of-factly. "How do I know you're not still evil?"

"Oh, I'll always be evil," he assured her impishly. "But I'd be a really boring character if I weren't a _little _bit evil."

"How do I know I can trust you?" she persisted, amused despite herself.

He gave her a fine impression of a big-eyed, hurt Basset hound. "How can you not trust a face like this? Is this the face of a man who would hurt you?"

"It's not the face I'm worried about," she countered. Mock-reluctantly, she sighed, "I suppose you'd like to come with us?"

"If you'll have me. I can sail a_ little_."

Interesting phrasing. "Well, all right...but the first sign of trouble out of you, you go overboard."

"I suppose that's only fair," he admitted. 

"Then put some clothes on and let's go."

She'd never known a blush could spread that far over a man's body. 

It was sunset when two figures crested the central hill--a woman in a loose-sleeved pirate shirt with a vest, black pants, and boots and sash of a matching dark red, and a young man in a Greek toga. At the very top, with the beauty of the entire island spread out before them, they paused and drank in the view of the sea glistening in the golden light. Perhaps all those pirates had had it wrong...there was no treasure hidden in the Caribbean, the Caribbean _was_ the treasure.

And it was all theirs. Everything within view, and many, many things that weren't. The man and woman sighed in near-unison and grinned at each other. Then he offered her his arm with a flourish--she laid her hand upon it with the delicacy of a court-flower--and they disappeared over the crest of the hill. Not long after, the lone ship in the bay raised sail, turned slowly, and pulled away, racing alongside the evening sun, heading north. Whatever stories would follow were as yet unknown, but with such characters as these they were sure to be tales worth telling.

_Finis_


End file.
